


Alarums and Excursions

by Mel_and_Christy



Series: Identities and Onwards [2]
Category: 3x3 Eyes, Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_and_Christy/pseuds/Mel_and_Christy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By: Mel<br/>Principal Beta Reader and Suggester of Cool Lines: Christy<br/>Warnings: Yaoi, language, mild Relena-bashing.<br/>Disclaimer: None of the main characters are mine; I'm borrowing them from Gundam Wing (the Gundam Pilots, duh!) and Sazan Aisu (Haan; I dipped him in the Mermaid Saga before I threw him in here).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# Alarums and Excursions

## (or, How Hazrat Haan Met the Rest of the Gundam Pilots)

### CHAPTER ONE

The Gundam pilots were gathered around the kitchen table in their current safehouse, radio murmuring quietly in the background.

"So it's definitely a leak?" Quatre asked.

Heero nodded. "Too many of our missions over the last four months have been compromised for it to be a coincidence, or random message intercepts. There **has** to be a traitor somewhere in the Doctors' organisation."

Trowa leaned against the bench, sipping at his mug. "Are you sure they're not just following Relena?" he asked.

"I thought of that," Heero said, grimacing, "and factored her in. I think they followed her three times. That still leaves eighteen missions that we've had to abort or modify because OZ has had information on our movements that they shouldn't have been able to get."

"How **does** Her High-and-Mightiness keep tracking us down?" Duo grumbled. "If I have to abandon one more set of clothes because we have to book it out of a safehouse when she turns up outta the blue, I'm gonna be running around naked!"

"She has enough money to pay the best private investigators and intelligence analysts in the world," Wufei said sourly, "enough charisma to keep them loyal to her instead of working for OZ, and not enough wit to realise that turning up on Yui's doorstep in a pink limousine is a Bad Idea."

"I knew she was thick from the very beginning," Duo said, slumping forwards onto the table. "I think it clicked when I tried to protect her from Heero, and **she** ended up protecting **him** from **me**."

"You should have let me shoot her," Heero muttered.

Duo waggled a finger at him. "Oh, no, no blaming **me** for the situation. You've had plenty of other opportunities."

Wufei coughed. "Getting back to the traitor...? What, if anything, is being done about our situation?"

"The Doctors are tightening up communications security and need-to-know," Heero said, gesturing at the message on his laptop. "They're going to try to narrow down their suspects by compartmentalising information and seeing which bits make it to OZ. In the meantime, J recommends that we should split up, communicate with them only in emergencies, and determine our own targets until the situation changes. If even the Doctors don't know where we're going to be, nobody in their organisation can find out and pass it on."

"But that means we'll lose access to their intelligence network," Quatre protested. "We'll have less data to select targets from, and be much less effective... **and** it increases our chances of running into OZ forces that we don't know about."

"But it **does** decrease our chances of running into OZ forces that **do** know about **us** , which is the whole point." Duo grimaced. "Whichever way we jump, it's gonna pinch."

"I'd rather be doing something **active** ," Wufei snapped, scowling. "Can we come up with anything to narrow it down?"

There was a short pause while they all thought, before Duo spoke. "Whoever it is doesn't know me. Probably hasn't even seen a picture -- at least, they hadn't four months ago. So it can't be any of Dr. G's assistants, the ones who work directly for him, 'cause I met them all ages ago."

Trowa blinked, interested. "What makes you say that?"

"One of **my** missions was the first one that went wrong, remember?" Duo grinned. "I woulda been done, if it hadn't been for-- uh, anyway, from what OZ communications I heard, they got an anonymous tip, and it was really sketchy. At first, all they knew was that a Gundam pilot was in town. Maybe an hour later, they got some more info; my name, and a description. The thing was, it was a really **bad** description. 'Fairly short teenage male, long brown plait, probably wearing black.' That was **it**."

"If it was an anonymous tip, perhaps the informant is not an 'official' OZ spy?" Wufei frowned. "I would expect them to say 'an intelligence report', or something similar, if that were the case."

"Someone working from personal motives, then?" Quatre suggested. "That actually may make finding them harder; they could have no previous ties to OZ for the doctors to find."

Duo sighed. "'Anonymous tip' also probably means they're not getting **paid** for it, which wipes out that motive. Joy. We could be dealing with a fanatic."

Trowa shrugged. "They may be getting paid now. The first couple of tips could have been their way of proving that their information was reliable enough for OZ to put them on the payroll."

"The first one wouldn't've got them any credit, then," the braided pilot grinned. "The description was so bad that they grabbed someone else. Une-baby took one look at him and called the whole search off."

"There's somebody **else** who cultivates a three-foot plait? The mind boggles," Wufei murmured into his green tea; Duo blew a raspberry at him and turned to the others.

"So? Do I have a point or what?"

"You have a point," Heero admitted. "This doesn't narrow down the suspects very much, but we've got so little information that **anything** is a step forward. Anybody else?"

"I've never had the opportunity to listen to OZ communications while they were hunting me, so I can't add anything," Quatre said dryly, propping his chin on one hand and peering curiously at Duo. "How **did** you manage that, Duo?"

"Er..."

"You were surprisingly uninformative when you reported your close call," Wufei said, putting his cup down. "We didn't pry, since we felt it would take a **very** compelling reason to make **you** hold your tongue--"

"Oi!"

"--but considering our current situation, now might be a good idea to change your mind," the Chinese boy finished.

There was an uncomfortable pause as everybody looked at Duo.

"...I had help," he admitted finally, crossing his arms and rocking his chair back on two legs. "The person who helped me had some... um... **interesting** resources, specifically a very good camera surveillance system. We used it to eavesdrop on an OZ patrol while they were discussing the pitiful description they'd been given. Okay? I didn't discuss it with you before because this person was probably involved in something illegal -- apart from saving my butt, I mean -- and I didn't want to spread around any information that might make life difficult for h-- them."

"I don't think telling **us** quite counts as 'spreading it around'," Quatre protested.

"Oh yeah? If I'd told you guys, I would've reported to G, too, and we've got a traitor, remember? That little tidbit might've been passed on to OZ along with everything else."

The blond boy winced. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Are you going to tell us now?" Trowa asked, putting his mug in the sink. "Seeing as we're not going to be reporting to the Doctors until this is settled..."

Duo shook his head stubbornly. "If anything comes up and I think it's relevant, I'll talk. Otherwise, no. I trust you guys, but I can't exactly phone this person and ask permission to tell you everything. They aren't **my** secrets."

Heero opened his mouth to argue, but Wufei spoke first. "An entirely honourable point of view," he said seriously, flicking a warning glance across the table at the L1 pilot. "If information about this person will not help us find our traitor -- and I don't see how it **could** \-- there is no point in discussing the matter further. Instead, we should plan our next move. If we are to split up, we should coordinate at least the first stage of our travels, or we may all sneak off separately and end up in the same place."

Duo laughed. "Wouldn't that be a shit? You've got to admit, Heero, he's got a point."

"And it gets you out of talking about your helper without having to argue. Right?" Heero glared half-heartedly.

"You're **so** perceptive sometimes."

\----------

They had nearly finished working out who would go where when Trowa stiffened, twisting in his chair to look at the radio. "Quiet," he snapped, and reached out a long arm to turn the volume up.

[--interrupt our regular programme to bring you this news bulletin,] an excited voice said. [OZ forces have established roadblocks and patrols surrounding a large area of the Southern Highlands, and are stopping and searching all vehicles and people moving across their perimeter. We have a reporter on the scene now. Ken, what seems to be happening?]

[Brian, I'm standing on Highway 54, just outside Brentonville and about two hundred meters away from an OZ roadblock,] Ken said. [They're still setting up their barricade, but I can see several Jeeps, two personnel carriers--]

[Two? Are you sure, Ken?]

[I realise that's a lot of soldiers for one roadblock, Brian, but OZ seem to be taking this very seriously. I can also see several large armoured trucks parked in a field a little way from the road. I can't say for sure, but I've reported on military stories before, and two of the trucks **could** be mobile suit transports.]

[Ken, if I could just interrupt for a moment, we've received reports of similar roadblocks outside of Caboton, Somersville, Wharton, Elgin, Tilbury--]

"We're surrounded," Quatre sighed, slumping in his chair.

"The leak strikes again," Duo announced glumly. "Bugger. So much for our plans."

[This represents a massive investment of men and materiel on OZ's part,] the reporter continued. [Whoever or whatever they're looking for, it must be important. I see some soldiers approaching, Brian, I'm going to try and get a statement-- Sir! Sir, excuse me, I'm with KWIK FM and I just--]

[No reporters allowed,] a voice growled. [You'll have to leave. This is now a restricted area.]

[All right, but first-- hey! Hey, don't touch that, it's--] There was a scuffling sound, and then static.

[Ah... we seem to have lost contact with Ken, but we'll continue to keep our listeners up to date as more information comes in--]

Trowa turned the radio down. "Now what?"

"'It must be important'," Wufei muttered, disgusted. "The mass media are masters of stating the obvious."

"We could fight our way out," Heero suggested.

"Bad idea," Trowa disagreed. "They're probably expecting it."

Quatre nodded reluctantly. "The terrain around here is perfect for hiding mobile suit forces. There's forest, rough hills, a lot of valleys and ravines... That reporter only saw two transports, but I'd guess they're only a small force to delay anyone who tries to break through, while the **real** opposition comes out of hiding."

"We can't just stay put and hope they'll get bored," Duo pointed out. "If they're revealing themselves, they must think they have enough forces in place to keep us bottled up in here. Next step is a search. If we can't shoot our way out, we've got to **sneak** out, and I'm sorry, Tro," he said sarcastically, "but I **don't** think wrapping our Gundams up in tarpaulins and putting them on flatbed trucks will work this time."

"I don't do that **all** the time."

"Deathscythe could probably get out under cloak," Wufei said quietly.

"I am **not** bouncing merrily off and leaving you guys in here to face the music, so you can just stop that train of thought right now, Wu-man."

"I wasn't suggesting anything like that," Wufei protested. "You could get out of the cordon and create a diversion somewhere else."

"Good idea," Heero said quickly, nodding.

"Nnnnnno," Duo said slowly. " **Not** a good idea. We're working on the idea that they know we're all in here, right? Otherwise they wouldn't be putting so much effort into this."

"Yes," Quatre said. "They must know there's at least three or four of us in here, or else this is overkill. Of course, if Une is in charge, this is just standard operating procedure..."

"Well, if I show up somewhere else, that's just me, right? 'Oh, he's got the really good stealth setup, he musta sneaked out.' They know the rest of us can't get out so easily, so they won't give up. I'm not going anywhere without you guys."

Trowa sighed. "We need a professional smuggler."

Heero scowled, but Quatre sat up straighter, eyes brightening. "Howard," he said softly. "Howard has contacts... Heero, can we say with reasonable certainty whether or not **Howard's** organisation is clear?"

Heero blinked, then tapped at his laptop, closing his e-mail and opening a data file. "Checking," he muttered. "Hm... clear. Only four of the blown operations involved Howard and his people, and every time we contacted him **after** it was blown, asking for repairs or transport out. Quatre, are you suggesting we ask Howard to put us in touch with a smuggler?"

"Why not? If Howard recommends someone, I'm willing to trust them... up to a point."

Wufei grimaced. "I dislike the idea of hiring help, but I don't have any better ideas."

"If we can pay a smuggler to help us, OZ can pay them to **betray** us," Heero objected.

"So we ask Howard to recommend someone he thinks has **really good** reasons not to help OZ," Duo suggested. "C'mon, Heero, it's a better plan than the whole 'Duo sneaks out' thing."

Quatre nodded decisively. "It's certainly worth checking out. Duo, could you please contact Howard and pass the request along?"

"Not a problem, Q," Duo said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "Y'know, if we can pull it off -- sneak out of here like we never got trapped in the first place -- OZ are gonna be **so** pissed!"

"And they might be less inclined to trust the traitor's reports in future," Wufei realised, starting to grin. "If they put on an operation of this magnitude, and we make it look like a complete waste of time... I invite you to contemplate Une's reaction."

Duo cackled evilly as he got up to get his laptop. "I want spy camera footage. Do you want spy camera footage? I think we should try to get some. I could enlarge the best shots, print off a few thousand copies, and scatter 'em over the next base I blow up."

"Duo, you're evil," Trowa said affectionately.

"I do my best!"

* * * * *

Late that night, Howard called. [I got your e-mail,] he said cheerfully. [So, you wanna set up a surprise party? Sounds like fun. Need any firecrackers?]

"If things go as planned, we've got plenty already," Duo told him. "Nobody's listening on this end; are you clear to talk it over?"

[The line's secure and scrambled on my end, too,] Howard replied, abruptly dropping out of code. [Damn, kid, you're in a mess this time, aren't ya?]

"Me? I can get out of here any time I want to," Duo snorted. "It's the other guys I'm worried about. Got any good news?"

[Well, you seemed to be making up code terms on the fly, but I **think** I understood your message. You want a good smuggler, right?]

"Right. Preferably one we can trust further than we can throw him. I mean, we **could** try to get someone to smuggle the Gundams without telling him what they were, but they're a little hard to disguise, y'know?"

[Fair enough. I think the guy I have in mind will do. He's damn good -- hell, I have **no** idea how he's pulled off some of his jobs -- he talks less than your friend who does his own first aid, and he hates OZ. I dunno why, but he gives people discounts if the cargo will make life difficult for them.]

"That would be us," Duo grinned.

[No kidding. I figured you'd like him, so I spent a little time asking around to find out if he's working at the moment. He's got kind of irregular habits; every now and then he drops out of sight for a while. About three, four months ago he did it again, but you're in luck; word is he's just got back in business and is looking for a job.]

"How soon can you set something up? We're kind of in a hurry here..."

Howard snorted. [I bet. Look, he won't talk to me if I try to make the arrangements myself; he refuses to work through a middleman. I can get in touch with him and let him know you wanna deal, though, and from there on it's up to you.]

"Any tips?"

[Don't piss him off.]

"Huh?!"

[I'm serious. Don't piss him off, and tell your friends to watch it too. He doesn't get mad often, but from what I hear, when he does, the results are fucking awful. If he likes you, he'll take the job and do his best for you. If he **doesn't** like you, no amount of money will get him to lift a finger. And to be blunt, I can't think of anyone else who can get you outta that hole.]

"Okay," Duo said, "we'll watch out. Set it up. Give him our contact details or set up a meeting, however he wants to handle it."

[Gotcha, kid. See ya when you get out of there.]

\----------

"Howard says 'don't piss him off'," Duo announced, dropping into a chair.

"Why are you looking at me?" Heero asked dryly.

"Who else do you know who can't--"

Quatre clapped one hand over Duo's mouth. "Because you're probably going to ask him to prove we can trust him, and Duo hopes you'll do it tactfully?" he suggested. "If-- EW! Duo, that's disgusting!" he yelped, snatching his hand away and scrubbing the wet palm on his pants.

"Bet you don't say that to Trowa," Duo leered.

Trowa glanced up from his book. " **I** don't lick his **hands** ," he said calmly, smirking as Quatre blushed. "I take it pissing off our smuggler would be a bad idea?"

"Yeah. Howard says, if he doesn't like us he won't work with us. Anyway, Howard's going to either set up a meeting or get him to contact us." Duo frowned. "Maybe we should leave Heero out of the negotiations until **after** this guy's accepted a down payment?"

Heero glared.

"Didn't think you'd go for it," Duo sighed, suppressing a grin. "It was worth a try, though. Can we at least stay away from personal insults, threats, and accusations?" he continued, sobering. "Howard **also** said it's this guy or nobody. If he can't or won't help us, we're screwed."

Wufei raised an eyebrow. "Surely he's not the only smuggler Howard knows?"

"He's the only one good enough to pull it off," Duo told him. "Apparently this guy's SuperSmuggler or something. Faster than a speeding rocket, leaps tall barricades in a single bound..."

"It's a truck, it's a plane, it's SuperSmuggler?" Wufei asked sarcastically. "Can he hide a Gundam inside his trench coat?"

"Hey, if Heero can hide a gun in his spandex shorts, anything is possible," Duo said cheerfully.

"So who is this paragon among smugglers?"

"Dunno."

Everybody looked at Duo with disbelieving expressions. He shrugged. "Howard didn't say."

"And you didn't **ask**?" Heero said incredulously.

"Hey, that's not how these things work!" Duo insisted. "If this guy decides he wants to talk about the job, then we'll find out who he is. Until then, he stays anonymous. That way, he can turn down the offer without prejudice or risk. Howard won't tell him who **we** are, either, unless he agrees to consider the job."

"You forgot to ask, didn't you?" Quatre said accusingly.

"Well... yeah," Duo admitted, squirming in his seat. "But Howard probably wouldn't'a told me anyway."

"We're hiring an **anonymous** smuggler," Wufei sighed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "This gets better by the minute."

* * * * *

Somewhere, a computer beeped as a message box popped up on its screen.

ONE (1) NEW EMAIL  
OPEN NOW? (Y/N)

A finger tapped the 'Y' key, and another box popped up.

FILE IS ENCRYPTED  
DECRYPT? (Y/N)

One eyebrow went up as the person hit 'Y' again. _That's interesting,_ he thought, watching the 'progress' bar inch its way across the screen. _I put out the word I was back in business only yesterday, and I'm already getting coded messages? Somebody's either eager, or well-informed..._

The message popped up on screen and he relaxed, smiling slightly. _Howard. Of course._

TO: -run-@transport.link.net  
FROM: howard@howardX.net  
SUBJECT: --no subject--

\---message begins---

Hey kid, welcome back. You've got good timing! I  
have a few friends in a tight spot. They need to  
move themselves and some big cargo on the quiet,  
fast. Interested? Call me.

\- Howard

\---message ends---

The other eyebrow went up this time; then he reached out to the keyboard again.

* * * * *

Howard was reaching for the coffee jar when one of his crew yelled in alarm. "Boss? Hey, boss! We're being hacked!"

"Whaddaya mean, we're being hacked?!" he roared, bolting out of the galley. "We've got the best damn firewall software--"

"Look for yourself!"

Skidding onto the bridge, Howard gaped at the scrolling nonsense text on the main screen. "What the fuck is that?!"

"Somebody hacked in through the satellite uplink," one of his engineers explained hastily, hammering on a keyboard. "They're running through our software, starting with our security programs, and I can't shut them out! I can't even switch off the uplink, they've blocked all the commands--"

The scrolling text paused, then started again.

"--huh? Now they're loading something into the main computer!"

"A virus?"

"...no..." The engineer blinked, looking at his smaller screen. "It's an encryption program. It's loaded... they're starting it up..."

The main screen blanked, then opened up a comms window.

[Hello, Howard,] Haan said calmly. [I got your message. What's the job?]


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit on a shingle, kid, don't **do** that!" Howard wheezed, sinking into a chair and wiping his forehead.

From the main computer screen, Hazrat Haan raised an eyebrow at him. [Don't do what?]

"Mess with our computers like that! You nearly gave poor Matthews a heart attack."

"Oh, right, as if **you** weren't worried at all," the engineer scoffed.

Haan snorted. [Your scrambling and encryption programs were pitiful. I just gave you a better one. You asked me to call you; was I supposed to do it over an insecure line?]

"Insecure--!" Howard sputtered indignantly for a moment, then abruptly laughed. "Insecure by **your** standards, maybe, kid, but nobody else has complained."

[They will soon if you keep using that 8-kilobit packet encryption algorithm,] Haan told him. [An OZ base in New Zealand cracked it yesterday. Don't say I never tell you anything for free.]

"Shit! They broke **that** one, already? You sure about that? No, don't answer that," Howard muttered, waving a hand. "You're always sure. Damn..."

[The **job** , Howard?] Haan said pointedly. [Who wants me to move what?]

"Ah. Right. Er... if it's all the same to you, I won't say just yet. Hell, kid, **I** trust you," he added hastily as Haan raised an eyebrow, "but my friends with the cargo don't know you, and one of them's paranoid. Burn-before-reading, only-trust-someone-after-he's-dead kind of paranoid. I haven't told them who **you** are either, if that makes you feel any better! I'm just gonna set up a meet between you, and you can all convince each other to play nice."

[Sounds like fun,] the teenager said flatly. [Do I go armed, or will your paranoid friends take that as proof I can't be trusted?]

" **They'll** be armed; I'm not gonna tell you to go naked."

[Good. If you tried, I'd drop the job.]

Howard winced. "Give them a chance, will you? Please? They've got reason to be paranoid, believe me, and I think you'll like them once you get to know 'em. Most of them, anyway," he added conscientiously. "And they **need** you, so if any of them are bastards to you, you can be a bastard back."

[I'm more likely to just walk out.] Haan eyed Howard curiously. [Why are you so stressed about this?]

"I told you, they're friends--"

[ **You** don't like paranoid people, either.]

"All right, so one of them's more like an acquaintance, but the **others** are cool--" Howard paused as a thought struck him, and peered over his sunglasses at the screen. "It'll **really** piss off OZ if you get them outta this fix," he said hopefully.

Haan nearly laughed. [All right, all right. Where do I meet them?]

\----------

After Haan signed off, Matthews started copying the system log files onto a disk.

"Now what?" Howard asked, peering over his shoulder.

"I'm going to find out how he did that, and fix things so he **can't** do it again," the engineer muttered, glaring at the screen. "He got in and locked me out so fast, it looked like he had a back door... but he's never been on board this ship, has he? I don't see how he could put a back door into the system without actually being here and accessing the computers directly. And even then, my diagnostic programs should find it!"

Howard snorted. "He's never **officially** been on board, but I wouldn't put it past him to've sneaked in--"

The screen flickered, and a small text box popped up.

SEARCHING FOR LOG FILES... FOUND  
DELETING G:\SYSTEM\SATLINK.LOG 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
DELETING G:\SYSTEM\MAIN.LOG 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
DELETING G:\SYSTEM\FILEDATA.LOG 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED

"Oh **shit**!" Matthews wailed, hammering desperately on the keyboard. "He must've dropped a data bomb into the system! It's deleting his hack out of all the bloody log files and I haven't **copied** them all yet--"

DELETING G:\SYSTEM\COMMS.LOG 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
SEARCHING FOR BACKUPS... FOUND  
DELETING G:\BACKUP\SATLINK.LOG.BAK 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
DELETING G:\BACKUP\MAIN.LOG.BAK 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
DELETING G:\BACKUP\FILEDATA.LOG.BAK 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED  
DELETING G:\BACKUP\COMMS.LOG.BAK 195-11-05 2315 to 195-11-05 2335... DELETED

"Well, that screws **that** ," Matthews said disgustedly, turning away. "At least I got a couple of them before it went off."

"Uh, Matthews... it's not finished," Howard said quietly, pointing at the screen.

"What?"

SEARCHING FOR COPIES... FOUND  
DELETING A:\SATLINK.LOG...

Matthews didn't waste time gaping at the screen; he flung himself at the console, stabbing at the 'eject' button, and yanked the disk out.

DELETING A:\SATLINK.LOG... ABORTED  
SEARCHING FOR COPIES... NOT FOUND  
END

The text box vanished.

"What do you wanna bet there's no trace of the data bomb left, either?" Howard said conversationally.

"I am **not** putting this back in the main system," Matthews said grimly, clutching the disk and breathing heavily. "I'm not giving his bloody jack-in-the-box data bomb another chance at it! It's going in my laptop, **after** I run every virus checker and diagnostic program I've got. I might invent a few new ones while I'm at it, too."

"Told you he was good."

"I don't understand why it was running so **slow** , though..." the engineer mused, looking puzzled.

"Yeah... come to think of it, it **was** slow for a data bomb," Howard said, eyebrows lifting. "Like it was waiting for instructions between each step. Weird... Haan wasn't still connected, was he?"

"Not so far as I can tell," Matthews said sourly, "but I don't think I trust the computer's records right now."

* * * * *

Haan opened his eyes and lifted his hand off the computer screen, frowning slightly as he watched the complicated symbol fade and the normal system graphics reappear.

_I didn't get it all. Either Howard's caught paranoia from his 'acquaintance', or that engineer was feeling curious... Never mind. They won't be able to work anything out from it._

Hanging from the cables at the back of the computer, carved bone charms and painted wards rattled as he moved the monitor slightly and tapped the keyboard, pulling up a map.

_Let's see... These people 'need to move themselves and some big cargo',_ he thought, remembering Howard's e-mail. _Helping them will seriously piss OZ off, and I'm supposed to meet them **there**... right in the middle of that big search operation OZ is running. It doesn't take a genius to work out who they are._

"Duo's probably there," he whispered, smiling. "I wonder if he'll be glad to see me again?"

* * * * *

Matthews wandered in to breakfast the next morning and sat down, frowning into thin air.

"What's up?" one of the mechanics asked, walking past with a tray. "You look like you haven't slept all night!"

"He used a brute force password cracker," Matthews said, not looking around. "He's that good at hacking, and all he's got to get in with is a brute force cracker?"

"Huh?!"

"Brute force doesn't work on our system," Howard protested, looking up. "If it gets a series of wrong passwords in one connection attempt, the security programs lock them out!"

"They didn't trigger. I checked them and they're working fine. They just didn't go off when Hazrat hacked in, and there's **nothing** in the one log I've got left to show how he did it. I **also** have no idea how he managed to get a brute force program to guess an eighteen-digit password in only twelve tries."

"Uh... luck?" one of the mechanics suggested.

"When you get one of our passwords wrong, you get no information about what you should have put in," Matthews said flatly. "There isn't even anything to show how long the password should be. His first try was twenty-five digits long. A **normal** brute force program would have kept trying twenty-five digit combinations until it ran out, or somebody stopped it. **His** switched to eighteen-digit combinations from the second try onwards... and every time it got part of the password right, it kept it. That's **not** luck. The only information our system was giving out was 'wrong password, try again', so how did he **do** that?! The only way he could mess with the security programs and get the password so fast is if he was already into the system, but then why wouldn't it show on the log? And if he was already in the system, he wouldn't **need** to crack the password!"

"Like I said yesterday," Howard said sympathetically, patting Matthews on the shoulder and putting a loaded plate in front of him, "the kid's **good**. If you get all wound up every time he does something and you can't work out how he pulled it off, you'll just stress yourself into a nervous breakdown. **I** nearly did. Forget about it and eat your breakfast."

* * * * *

"Right on time," Trowa said quietly, leaning against the wall next to one of the grimy front windows. The warehouse Howard had fixed as the meeting site was old, dirty and seemed disused -- apart from some suspicious scuff marks in the dirt, clustered around the rear loading entrance -- and there hadn't been any traffic down the laneway leading to it all morning. Now, however, a battered black motorcycle was cruising towards him, ridden by an anonymous figure wearing heavy black denim and a helmet with a tinted visor, and he thought it was fairly safe to assume this was the smuggler they were waiting for.

Sure enough, the bike swung in through the open door and coasted to a halt in the middle of the warehouse floor. The rider shut off the engine and leaned it onto its kickstand as Trowa pushed the door closed; the blank helmet swiveled to look at him, then turned to scan the area.

The other Gundam pilots walked out of the shadows at the rear of the building. "Howard sent you?" Heero demanded, gun held down by his thigh, half-hidden but ready.

"Yes," the figure replied, in a deep, rough voice that sounded like he'd encountered a lot of cigarettes and whisky in his life. "You must be Mr. Paranoid," he added dryly, reaching up with gloved hands to pull the helmet off.

Sandy brown hair tumbled out, uncoiling as it fell until the ends brushed his boots, and mismatched eyes -- one green, one yellow-brown -- glittered sardonically under spiky bangs as he smirked at Duo, dismissing Heero as if he and his pistol didn't exist.

"Oh, **wow** ," Duo said, grinning. "Haan, man, good to see ya!" Dropping his voice, he muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Lose the gun, Heero, he's all right." Then he started forwards, gesturing expansively. "Guys, this is Hazrat Haan, the person I wouldn't tell you about before. You know, the one who saved my ass? Haan, these are my friends, Heero, Trowa, Quatre and Wufei. I see you got your bike back... **Damn** , I'm glad you're okay! You didn't have any more problems after I left, did you? I was worried that maybe that OZ squad would go back and make trouble--"

Still perched comfortably astride his motorbike, Haan calmly reached out, wound his hand into the loose strands at the base of Duo's braid, pulled him close, and kissed him. As far as the onlookers could judge, it was a fairly impressive kiss. Duo certainly seemed to think so... at least, after the first startled jerk, he didn't try to get loose.

It lasted a while.

Eventually, Haan let go, and Duo slowly straightened up.

".........I see **you** haven't changed," he said, blinking dazedly.

"Why change a technique that works?" Haan replied calmly, hooking his helmet onto the handlebars and swinging around, off the bike. "Besides," he added, almost purring, "it's **fun**." Turning to the others, he raised an eyebrow as he met their gazes. Quatre looked startled, Trowa seemed mildly amused, Wufei's face was determinedly blank, and Heero... Heero was glaring daggers at him, knuckles white as he clenched his hand around the gun.

_Interesting,_ Haan thought, and stared coolly back. "So. Shall we discuss the job?"

\----------

There wasn't any furniture in the warehouse, apart from a broken chair left behind in one of the cobwebby little offices, but there were enough empty crates and pallets for everyone to sit down.

"Well," Quatre began, resisting the urge to get up again and fastidiously dust his seat, "I don't know how much Howard told you..."

"Just that you have big cargo to move," Haan said, settling back comfortably. "Five Gundams, right?"

"How do you know that?!" Heero snapped, stiffening.

The sandy-haired teen rolled his eyes. "It's obvious. Big cargo plus secret plus giant OZ search -- plus paranoia," he added dryly, "equals Gundams. Meeting Duo here just confirmed it. And no, **he** didn't tell me either."

"Logic **is** a useful tool," Wufei murmured, carefully not smiling.

"Very. I don't know how much Howard told **you** ," Haan said flatly, staring challengingly at Heero, "but I don't like paranoid people, and I **don't** need this job. If you annoy me too much, goodbye. You've got some leeway because OZ want you dead, but if you're going to be twitching and questioning me every ten minutes, it's off."

Heero scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but Haan just kept talking. " **If** I take this job, **I** will be in charge. I don't tell you how to fight Leos, you don't tell me how to smuggle things. I'll explain what you need to know to make **my** plan work, and nothing more. Got that?"

"I'm not convinced we need you, yet," Heero growled, glaring back. "I'm **definitely** not convinced we can **trust** you."

"Oh, you need me all right," Haan said, smirking slightly. "I got a **really** good look at the perimeter on the way in. You're not getting out undetected by yourselves. As for trust, you tell me, Mr. Paranoid. What proof will you accept?"

The smirk grew wider when Heero couldn't come up with an answer to that.

"'Scuse us," Duo said abruptly, standing up. He didn't try to drag Heero, or ask him to move; he just walked some way off and stared meaningfully until Heero got up and joined him.

"What?"

"Look, Heero," Duo said, exasperated, "Haan risked his life to save my butt four months ago. I didn't ask him to, he just did it. Some shitty OZ soldier nearly broke his jaw! As far as **I'm** concerned, he already passed, all right?! **Yes** , we need him, we already decided that. He's got us over a barrel if he wants to play things that way, so can we just be **polite** , the way we planned?! At the very least, try not to act like you wanna pick a fight!"

The muscles along Heero's jaw clenched, but finally he nodded. "All right," he gritted out. "I'll be polite if **he** is."

"I don't think it works that way, Heero," Duo sighed. "I think he gives back what he gets, doubled. I think you're gonna have to be polite first."

Heero scowled and nodded again. "Ryoukai," he muttered sullenly.

"Uh... what's that one mean again? It's a good one, right? I hope it's not like 'fuck that' or anything, because that would be **really** bad, Heero. **Really** ," Duo said nervously, keeping his voice down.

"It means 'acknowledged'."

" **Good**. Glad we got that straightened out. You, ah, you gonna come back now, or...?"

"You go," Heero said quietly. "I'll be there in a minute."

He watched Duo jog back to the group, and then shifted his gaze to Haan as he discussed something with Quatre. Haan looked up and smiled at Duo as the braided pilot sat down, and Heero suddenly realised he was clenching his fists again.

_How can I trust him to do his job right?!_ he thought angrily, forcing his hands open and rubbing damp palms against his shirt. _It's an important job, it's a **mission** , it's **serious** , and he waltzes in here and **flirts** \-- kisses Duo -- I'm supposed to take orders from him?! Like hell!_

\----------

"Do you want me to take you anywhere in particular, or just out of here?" Haan asked. Listening with half an ear to Quatre's answer, he watched Heero and Duo out of the corner of his eye.

_They aren't acting like lovers,_ he mused. _The body language is all wrong... but Heero definitely didn't like me kissing Duo. Either he doesn't think I should be kissing **anyone** when I'm on a job, or... let's see._ He turned his head to smile at Duo as the braided pilot returned, and noted Heero's reaction. _Aha. He wants me to stay away from Duo. They're not officially together, though, or he would've warned me off already. Next question: is Duo not interested, or has Heero not got around to making a move?_

_Whichever it is, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't enjoy myself. As long as **Duo** doesn't want me to back off._

"...not necessary, but if you can scatter the areas you deliver us to as widely as possible, we'd appreciate it," Quatre finished.

"That shouldn't be hard," Haan replied, returning his attention to the conversation. "There's only a small local-traffic airport in the area, so a lot of heavy road traffic goes in and out with cargo over half a dozen routes. One more truck won't be obvious."

"You're planning to take us out by truck?" Trowa asked, raising an eyebrow; Haan nodded, and Trowa chuckled. "See, Duo? It works."

"I bet **he** doesn't use a flatbed truck and a tarpaulin," Duo snorted. "Right, Haan?"

"I use **my** truck," Haan said, grinning. "Purpose-built. OZ can scan it any way they like, they won't see your suits."

"Oooo," Duo said, eyes glittering. "Stealth truck. This, I have to see. D'you think there's anything I-- er, **we** can use?"

"Finding out how I do things is a **lot** more expensive than just paying me to do them," Haan told him. "Like I said, I'm not telling you anything you don't need to know."

"Spoilsport!"

"You'll live. If it's any consolation, my little cargo-hiding trick only works in an enclosed compartment," Haan said, flicking a quick glance to the side as Heero stiffly walked back. "You couldn't use it to hide a Gundam that was out walking around."

"Well, **that** sucks."

"Our hearts bleed for you, Duo," Wufei said dryly. "You'll just have to settle for Deathscythe only being four times better at stealth than the other Gundams."

"Gotta keep improving," Duo said, smiling hopefully at Heero as he sat down. "You snooze, you lose. Right, Heero?"

"Hn." Heero folded his arms across his chest and glared silently at an inoffensive spot on the floor.

Haan managed not to roll his eyes. _He may be a brilliant pilot, a great warrior, old beyond his years, and so on, but he's certainly acting his age now! Was **I** like that?_

_...yes, I was. I tended to throw knives instead of glaring, though._

"So, is there anything else you need to know?" Quatre asked, smoothly covering up the awkward silence following Heero's non-comment.

"I'll need rough measurements, to make sure the Gundams will fit, but that can wait," Haan said, pulling a small electronic palmpad out of his jacket pocket. "Give me a second to work out the price, and--" He broke off and muffled a cough behind his hand, wincing. "'Scuse me," he rasped, voice suddenly rougher. "Talking too much."

"You okay?" Duo asked, concerned. "Want some water? You weren't talking **that** much..."

Haan shook his head slightly, waving the palmpad in the general direction he'd arrived from. "OZ checkpoint," he explained shortly. "Asked lots of questions."

He spent about a minute quickly entering data on the pad, then held it wordlessly out to Quatre. The blond boy started to scroll down the list, blinked, scrolled back...

"You have a very, ah, **individual** payment scale, Mr. Haan," he said slowly.

Haan shrugged one shoulder, smiling blandly, but didn't answer; Duo leaned sideways, trying to peer at the tiny screen. "What's it say?"

"'Transport of five people and 'luggage', base price ten thousand credits each'," Quatre read. "That's actually fairly cheap, I think... 'Duo will talk all the time: plus ten percent'."

"Hey!"

Haan pointed at his throat. "Makes me answer," he said, voice still raspy, then tugged the collar of his turtleneck a little higher.

"'Trowa **won't** : minus ten percent'," Quatre continued. "'Heero's paranoid: plus ten'."

Heero's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything.

"'You're all used to having your own way: plus ten percent each, refundable if I don't get arguments. You all look distinctive and OZ has your descriptions: plus five percent each for fake IDs and disguises to match'." Quatre scrolled down and continued. "That adds up to ten thousand five hundred credits for Trowa, eleven thousand five hundred each for Wufei and I, and twelve thousand five hundred each for Heero and Duo. Then there's one final clause. 'You piss OZ off on a regular basis'," he read, enunciating clearly, "'and this will really annoy them: minus seventy-five percent'."

Duo burst out laughing, nearly falling off his crate as he rocked sideways. "Oh, that's rich," he snorted between chuckles. "That's a good one..."

Heero's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, glancing at Duo. Wufei spoke up, instead.

"While the gesture is appreciated," he said carefully, face calm but eyes wary, "that comes to less than three thousand credits a trip... less than many transport companies charge for a standard load of comparable size. Your costs and risk are much higher than theirs. I don't see how you can be making a profit on this."

Haan shrugged again. "I'm not."

"In that case, I have to ask -- even if it appears slightly paranoid," Wufei added dryly. "If you aren't doing this for the money, what **are** you doing it for?"

"Personal satisfaction," Haan told him, smiling thinly. "Amusement. A lack of boredom. I already **have** plenty of money."

"Howard **did** say he gives discounts on jobs that'll piss OZ off," Duo told the others, still snickering. "He just didn't say how big!"

"Big annoyance equals big discount," Haan muttered, coughing and grimacing in annoyance. "Call it a special offer. You want to talk it over without me?" Standing up, he dusted off the seat of his pants and raised an eyebrow at Quatre.

"Thank you," Quatre said, smiling sweetly. As Haan walked off towards the far end of the warehouse, he looked around at the other pilots. "Well?"

"You know which way I'm voting," Duo said. "I trust him, I like him, and I've seen some of his resources; I say go for it."

Trowa shrugged and nodded slightly; Wufei raised a cautioning finger. "I want to test his claim that he can hide our Gundams that well, first, and I want to know what he plans to do if OZ are physically searching cargoes. Apart from that, I have no objections."

Heero's scowl deepened. " **I** do! I don't care how good he's supposed to be, he's not acting like a professional. He even said he's doing this for **fun**! What happens if, halfway through, he decides it's no fun any more?"

"Heero!" Duo groaned. "What's he done that's so unprofessional?"

"Ten seconds after he arrived he was flirting with **you** , that's what!" Heero snarled before he could stop himself.

Duo blushed bright red, but didn't back down. "He kissed me to shut me up, that's all! It's an effective tactic, all it proves is that he can improvise! Anyway, **I** flir-- uh-- nevermind that," he muttered, blush deepening. "I've seen him in action, you haven't, okay? He focuses on the job just fine when he needs to. If you're gonna refuse to work with him because he's 'unprofessional' for stealing one freaking kiss, you should be refusing to work with **me** because I listen to music and make jokes when I'm piloting!"

"That's different!" Heero growled. "You've proven yourself a hundred times. He hasn't."

"If Howard recommended him," Wufei cut in unexpectedly, "then he **has**. He just hasn't done it in front of **us** , and we can't exactly wait until he has a chance to!"

"Chang the Man's right as usual, Heero," Duo said wryly, blush slowly fading. "Either you trust my and Howard's judgement, or you don't. That's all there is to it."

"Of **course** I-- you-- aah, chikushou!" Heero swore. He looked away for a moment, audibly grinding his teeth, then looked back. "Fine. I'm paranoid. I admit it. He rubs me the wrong way and I **can't** see him as a serious... fuck it. Fine. I trust your judgement."

" **Thank** you," Duo said, smiling crookedly, stood up and walked off after Haan.

"It's... er... semi-unanimous, then," Quatre said with slightly strained humour, and hastily got up to follow Duo. "Ah... coming?"

"I'll behave," Heero muttered, answering the question Quatre hadn't asked. "I'll **try** to be polite to him. I'll even try not to be paranoid about him... but later, okay?"

"Okay," Quatre smiled, relieved, and jogged off.

_And if it turns out that we **can't** trust him, he'd better pray he's not with me when we find out,_ Heero thought grimly, glaring across the warehouse to where Duo had caught up to Haan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the name of Haan's truck from a short-lived character in Inuyasha.

Three days later, an immense truck drove slowly along a narrow dirt road, coming to a stop in the shadow of a taller-than-normal stand of trees. Haan pushed the driver's side door open, took one last look at a display on the dashboard, and dropped easily to the ground, flicking his hair back and adjusting his headwrap as he did so.

"That's the all-clear signal," Quatre observed quietly, hidden some way back in the trees. "How about our end of the road?"

[Sensors say it's clear,] Trowa's voice came from the small comlink in his hand.

"Let's get started, then."

Haan looked up and smiled as Quatre stood and walked forwards, waving to call the other pilots out of their camouflage. "Good to see you again," he murmured. "Everything seems peaceful in this area, so we shouldn't have any surprises while we load. Who's going first?"

"Trowa and Heavyarms," Quatre told him, carefully **not** wincing at the memory of the arguments they'd had with Heero before the Japanese pilot had finally agreed to let someone else take the risky first trip. "It's marginally bulkier than the other Gundams, so if we're going to have problems fitting them in we'll find out right away."

"Oi, Haan, nice truck!" Duo called from the other side of the road, jogging down a slight slope ahead of Wufei. "Is that Chinese?"

"Japanese," Wufei corrected him before Haan could reply. "The characters are slightly different."

Haan nodded, grin widening. "Meet my truck, Ryuukossei," he said, gesturing towards it. "'Dragon-bone-spirit'."

A silver oriental dragon with blood-red eyes was painted down both sides of the huge cargo trailer, frozen in the act of snarling and rearing up to strike. The angle of the head and claws made it seem as if it was targeting a spot just ahead of the seriously chromed radiator, and something, presumably the truck's name, was painted in kanji across the cabin doors.

"It's a magnificent piece of work," Wufei said slowly, "but I certainly didn't expect a smuggler's truck to be so... ah..."

"Memorable?" Haan raised an eyebrow at him. "That's the point. If I'm driving something this flashy, I **must** be legitimate. Besides, I can change it in a hurry if I need to. I don't expect that; I've got a short-term contract for half a dozen trips to explain why I'll be going in and out of OZ's perimeter, so I want them to get used to seeing the same truck."

Branches creaked and shed leaves as Heavyarms pushed through them and stepped onto the road, followed by Wing. [Let's get this over with and get back under cover,] Heero snapped through Wing's speakers. [It would only take one OZ plane flying over to blow this wide open.]

"Stating the bleeding obvious, Heero," Duo muttered, rolling his eyes. "Need a hand, Haan?"

"Not really," Haan shrugged, strolling towards the truck's rear. "Come watch if you want."

"Why not? I might see something I can use!"

The other teen snickered, swinging the trailer doors open and pushing one around to latch it back against the side panel. "I doubt it, but you're welcome to try."

Duo leaned into the cargo compartment and squinted around the cavernous interior, estimating measurements, and grimaced uncertainly. "I dunno if this is going to work. I mean, it looks big enough to hold a Gundam, but it's still gotta get in there, you know? Even if Trowa manages to crawl Heavyarms in, he's gotta end up with the Gundam on its back or he won't be able to get **out**."

"Not a problem." Haan latched the second door back and quickly checked to see where everyone was standing. "All clear... Ryuukossei! Open up!"

The huge truck shivered slightly as a series of latches clicked open, and then the walls of the trailer slowly leaned outwards. The two halves of the roof folded down against them as they settled slowly to the ground, and the faint sound of hidden motors stopped.

"...Haan?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'll stop having last-minute doubts now," Duo grinned.

Haan snorted and waved towards Heavyarms. "Hop on," he called. "Just shift the weight slowly so the suspension can adjust."

\----------

Less than ten minutes later, Heavyarms was properly positioned and secured, and the trailer was quietly closing up around it. Haan waited until the latches in the various seams had all closed, then swung the doors shut but didn't lock them. One hand still resting on the warm metal, he glanced up at Wing.

"Getting a good sensor picture?"

[I can see Heavyarms in there just fine, if that's what you mean,] Heero replied shortly.

"Keep watching." Making a fist, Haan banged twice on the door and raised his voice. "Ryuukossei! Switch to the manifest load!"

Suspension groaned as the trailer abruptly rose five inches, as if the load had lightened, and a startled noise came out of Wing's external speakers.

"Now what do you see?" Haan asked, poker-faced.

[Fragile-item shipping containers,] Heero replied slowly. [With ceramics in them.]

"Imitation Ming vases and small statuettes, according to my load manifest," Haan informed him, now visibly suppressing a smirk.

"And if someone looks in the back door?" Wufei asked, managing to sound matter-of-fact.

Wordlessly, Haan pushed one of the doors open, revealing... stacks of bulky plastic containers, liberally plastered with 'FRAGILE' stickers, strapped securely to either side of the trailer with a walkway left clear down the middle.

"I think it'll pass a visual inspection," Trowa said calmly.

"How are you **doing** that?" Quatre asked wonderingly, stepping slowly to one side and confirming that yes, his perspective did shift. "Holograms? Nobody's been able to make a stable projected hologram bigger than a six-inch cube..."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Haan grinned, swinging the door shut again, "and you couldn't pay me enough to tell you, anyway."

"If you ever do decide to sell the idea," the Winner heir told him seriously, "I'd appreciate it if you'd consider talking to me first. Even if you can only project still 3-D pictures, this has the potential to make you a **lot** of money."

"But then you wouldn't be able to use it to piss OZ off, right?" Duo asked, shaking off the effects of seeing boxes and empty space where large chunks of Gundanium should have been.

"And I already have a lot of money," Haan agreed, snapping a locking bar over the latch. "Shall we get going?"

Trowa nodded, swinging a small backpack over his shoulder, and bent to kiss Quatre. "See you," he muttered, nodding to Duo and Wufei, then waved briefly up at Wing before walking off towards the truck cabin.

* * * * *

"How attached are you to that hair?" Haan asked abruptly after a couple of hours of driving.

Trowa blinked, startled out of his thoughts by the unexpected question. Haan hadn't spoken since they set off, except to point out the rack of CDs, and Trowa had been quite comfortable in the silence, falling into a quiet reverie.

"...What do you mean?"

"I mean, can I cut it?" Haan glanced across for a moment, frowning. "It's the first thing people recognise you by."

"I suppose so." Trowa pulled at his fringe and squinted at it, going slightly cross-eyed. He felt a little uncomfortable at the idea of losing the smooth fall of hair, but suppressed it. _If it's a choice between cutting my hair and getting caught, I'll cut my hair. Quatre teases me sometimes about hiding behind it... I suppose I do. Well, it'll grow again._

"How are you planning to disguise the others?" he asked curiously.

"I'm not planning to cut **Duo's** hair," Haan said dryly. "I've got a few ideas for him, but nothing solid yet. I might dye Quatre's. Wufei..." He shrugged. "I'll see what he looks like without the ponytail."

"What about Heero?"

Haan snickered, grinning nastily. "I'm tempted to give him a buzz cut. I know where I can get clippers."

"I'll sign your casts when you get out of hospital."

In the end, Haan didn't shorten Trowa's bangs very much; he just trimmed them enough so that they didn't make a cowlick on the back of Trowa's head when he slicked his hair back with gel. He produced new clothes, too, scruffy jeans and t-shirt, with a bulky down jacket that made Trowa look much more heavily built than he really was.

"Try not to look as if you're scared they'll fall off," Haan advised, nodding towards Trowa's hips. The European pilot blushed and stopped hitching up the baggy jeans.

"I'm not used to wearing clothes this loose," he admitted. _Except in the circus ring!_

"The waistband isn't loose, and that's all that matters. See?" To prove it, Haan grabbed the front pockets and yanked downwards. The jeans didn't come off, much to Trowa's relief. "We're going the long way across OZ's search zone, so you've got twenty-four hours to get used to it."

"Why can't I just ride in the cargo space? If you can fool the OZ sensors that well, why risk having someone recognise me?"

"It wouldn't work," Haan said flatly. "It doesn't work on living things." Trowa raised a mildly sceptical eyebrow, and Haan's mouth twisted into a humourless smile. "Well, it would work up to a point. The sensors wouldn't see you... but anything more advanced than a plant that spends more than a couple of minutes in there," he jerked his thumb towards the trailer, "while my 'trick' is operating, ends up either dead or insane. I contracted to deliver Gundam pilots, not walking vegetables or slabs of 'the other white meat'."

About to say more, Haan suddenly choked and doubled over, coughing violently. He clamped one hand over his mouth, supporting himself with the other hand on his knees, and managed to suppress the coughing fit, but stayed bent over for a long moment, breathing hard.

When he took his hand away from his mouth, Trowa saw blood.

"That anything I need to know about?" he asked quietly, not reaching out to Haan but ready to move if he needed support.

"Talking too much," Haan rasped, and muffled another cough. Slowly straightening up, he grimaced and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Trowa could think of several things that would make somebody cough up blood. Most were at least potentially fatal, and an uncomfortably large number were infectious. "What is it?" _Tuberculosis? Ravenna's Disease? Maybe he's not interested in making money because he knows he won't live long enough to spend it..._ "I'd like to know if I have to worry about you dropping dead, you see," he added in a bland voice when it didn't look like Haan was going to answer right away.

\----------

 _I'm not dead yet! I'm getting better!_ Haan thought, suppressing a slightly hysterical laugh that would only hurt like hell and give Trowa entirely the wrong idea. _I feel happy!_ Squashing the urge to keep quoting Monty Python to himself-- _And how long is it since I've thought of that scene without wanting to get drunk?_ \--he tugged the collar of his turtleneck down with his clean hand, displaying the ugly ridged scar running across his throat and down onto his shoulder.

"Nasty," Trowa observed dispassionately, reaching out to pull the cloth lower. "Looks like somebody tried to kill you."

"You could say that," Haan whispered hoarsely. _Or you could say that he was trying to find out if something would kill **him** , and needed a guinea pig, but I don't feel like getting into a full explanation._

"Scar tissue on your vocal cords, too?"

Haan nodded, pulling away and readjusting his collar. "I normally go months without an episode," he whispered. "Duo's a bad influence."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Trowa's mouth. "He is very good at getting quiet people out of their shells," he murmured. "Do you need to see somebody about it?"

"Years old. Not gonna get better."

\----------

 _That explains his voice,_ Trowa mused, walking back to the truck and resisting the urge to hitch up his jeans again, _and why he stopped talking so suddenly when we started driving. His throat must have started hurting. Or started hurting more..._

_That scar didn't **look** years old. It looked a couple of months old at most, still red and tender... but why would he lie about it?_

* * * * *

Late that night, Haan pulled into a truck stop and parked at the end of a row of other semis and road trains.

"are we moving on after we've eaten?" Trowa asked, nodding towards the bright 'NO VACANCY' sign.

Haan shook his head. "Bunk in the truck," he rasped, voice still painful-sounding.

"Is that safe? Sleeping in the truck while your 'trick' is operating?" Having Haan suddenly cough up blood might have been distracting, but Trowa hadn't forgotten what he'd said about the effects of whatever-it-was he did to hide the trailer's real contents.

"It's safe. The effect goes in, not out. Shielded." Seeing Trowa's mildly dubious expression, Haan grinned. "Safe as **driving** the truck with it operating."

"Good point," Trowa said dryly. "I don't think I've gone insane yet, but then, the patient is apparently the last one to know. **You** seem stable enough, so I suppose it must be all right."

"Crunchy pool frogs spam," Haan said seriously, and swung out of his door. He was still smirking, and Trowa was still chuckling, when they walked into the building.

They ate at a table by the window, watching trucks pull in and out of the brightly-lit parking lot, and Trowa noted a few that were as impressively decorated as Haan's. The drivers who got out of the flashier trucks tended to check out the other rigs in the parking lot before coming in to eat, and always spent extra time looking at Ryuukossei.

"Prosperous independents," Haan said quietly, noting Trowa's interest. "It's advertising."

"If you can afford to spend that much on your truck's looks, you must be doing well, and therefore you're a good person to hire?" Trowa speculated, and Haan nodded. "Just like making an impression on a prospective employer when you're in a mercenary corps... Why are they so interested in Ryuukossei?"

"Not a regular in this area," Haan shrugged, taking a sip of his soda. "Wondering if I'm new competition or just passing through."

"I see what you meant about it looking legitimate, now," Trowa admitted. All the bigger trucks were either painted in the colours of a major shipping company, or chromed and embellished from their hood ornaments to their taillights. A 'nondescript' truck without any identifying marks would have stood out like a sore thumb.

"You **are** paying me for my expertise," Haan pointed out quietly.

"Not enough," Trowa muttered into his coffee.

* * * * *

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Q," Duo said earnestly, breaking into Quatre's uncharacteristic gloomy silence. "They both know what they're doing, and you saw what Haan can do with that truck of his!"

Quatre managed a weak smile. "I know. I just... I can't help worrying about it. I mean, we all know how easily a plan can fall apart if the stupidest little thing goes wrong..."

"Even if that happens, they'll make it," Duo said confidently, sitting down next to him on the lawn and looking up at the moon.

"...You really trust Haan that much?"

Duo groaned. "Oh, man, don't tell me Heero's got you doubting him too!"

"No! I trust your judgement, and Howard vouched for him as well, so yes, I still believe he's on our side. It's just... you have so much faith in him, but you've only met him once before now."

"I developed faith in Heero pretty damn quick too, and that was **after** I shot him, he nearly committed suicide, **and** he stripped Deathscythe for parts," Duo pointed out dryly. "Maybe I'm just a sucker for guys who glare well."

Quatre giggled. "Maybe."

Duo leaned back on his hands and studied Quatre's profile. "What's got you twitchy about Haan?"

The blond pilot was silent for a long moment, chin resting on his knees. "I can't feel him."

"Huh?"

"In my heart... my empathy." Quatre shifted, rubbing absent-mindedly at his chest. "I can't feel Haan at all."

Duo leaned forwards, tossing a wary glance back over his shoulder at the house to make sure the other pilots weren't coming out. Wufei had maintained a diplomatic silence on the subject of Quatre's 'sixth sense', but Heero was openly sceptical. Duo wasn't so sure. "But... I thought you couldn't feel people until you got to know them, anyway?"

" **Usually** ," Quatre stressed. "Very strong personalities make an impact right away. I felt you and all the other pilots on our first meeting, for one thing," he added.

Duo snorted. "Haan definitely comes across as a strong personality, I gotta admit."

"Even without that, before I can get anything definite from people, there's a sort of... It's sort of like a faint background noise," Quatre said, struggling to find the words to explain. "If somebody's right next to you, even if they don't say anything, you can hear them breathing and moving, maybe feel their body heat. It's kind of like that. People radiate the fact that they **exist** , but Haan's like a black hole. I didn't really notice it the first time I met him, because I didn't expect to feel anything yet, so I wasn't really 'looking' at him. But today... I 'looked'."

"Weird," Duo breathed. "I can see how that would be creepy." _Like talking to someone and then suddenly realising that they're ice cold and not breathing... brrr!_ "Maybe he's, I dunno, an anti-empath or something? I mean, you've got a psychic ability that lets you feel things about people, maybe he's got one that blocks it?"

"It's possible," Quatre said doubtfully. "I've never met anybody else who does that, though."

"So it's rare. Ever met another empath?"

"...Not knowingly. Good point." Quatre sighed and flopped back onto the grass, letting his arms sprawl limply to either side. "If I'm one of a kind, I can't blame him for being the same."

"Still worried?"

"Hell yeah."

Duo choked. "Q!"

"What, you're allowed to swear and I'm not?" Quatre sniffed haughtily. "That's discriminatory, you know."

"It's not that! It's just... it **means** more, coming from you."

Quatre sniffed again. "I just haven't cheapened it through overuse."

"Now you sound like Wufei."

"Finally, someone learns from my example," an amused voice came from behind them. "I gain merit by improving the world around me. No doubt my ancestors are pleased."

"Shit, Wu, don't sneak up on people like that! How long have you been there?!"

"Long enough to hear your last sentence, that's all. And don't call me 'Wu'." The Chinese pilot raised one elegant eyebrow. "Is this a private conversation, or can anyone sit in?"

"The restricted portion is over, I think," Duo told him, glancing at Quatre for confirmation and getting a nod back. "Pull up a weed and take the load off, 'Fei-fei."

"How would you like it if I called you 'Du'?" Wufei asked, mildly exasperated. "Or 'Well-well'?"

"I'd call it a sign of a developing sense of humour, and cheer... **Wufei**."

He snorted, sitting down. "Devolving, Maxwell, not developing."

"Whatever. Change is life. Is Heero gonna come out too?"

"I doubt it. Yui is--"

"Oh no." Duo collapsed forwards onto his face. "You're calling him 'Yui'. That means he's being a dick again."

"I wouldn't put it **that** strongly, but he is exhibiting moderately paranoid behaviour patterns," Wufei grumbled.

"What's he doing?" Quatre asked tiredly, draping one forearm across his eyes.

"Hacking into OZ databases to look for mentions of our smuggler."

"It figures," Duo growled, rolling over onto his back. "I'm sick of this. I'm not even going to argue with him about it. It's not worth developing an ulcer over. Maybe when he doesn't find anything he'll shut up for a day or so!"

\----------

"Since you haven't left to hunt Haan down, should I take it that you didn't find any mention of him in OZ's records?" Wufei asked coolly the next morning, after walking into the kitchen to find Heero already there.

"Hn." The scowl on Heero's face deepened as he reached for a mug and the jar of instant coffee.

"I would consider this a **good** thing," Wufei continued pointedly. "One more piece of evidence pointing towards his trustworthiness."

"It doesn't prove anything," Heero snarled, slinging coffee into his mug and glaring at the kettle as if it had personally offended him.

"You know as well as I do how hard it is to prove a negative, Yui," Wufei snorted. "There comes a point when you have to admit that you've found no reason not to trust someone, and you passed that point a **long** time ago."

"Perhaps we have different ideas of where that point **is**."

"Perhaps **you** have personal reasons for wanting Haan to be a traitor."

Heero stiffened, jerking his head around to stare. "And what the hell do you mean by **that**?!"

"Jealousy is a very ugly emotion, Yui," Wufei said quietly, meeting Heero's eyes without flinching. "Driving away anyone who even looks at him sideways won't get you very far with Duo."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Then stop acting like you are."

"I'm **not**!"

"You were acting like your normal paranoid but rational self until Haan kissed Duo," Wufei snapped impatiently. "Since then, any mention of him has you clenching your fists and reaching for your gun. If you want to have some sort of relationship with Duo, do something about it. If you **don't** , then whatever he and Haan may choose to do together is entirely their business!"

Heero opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again as a door opened at the other end of the hall.

"Think about it, Yui," Wufei muttered, lowering his voice as dragging footsteps approached. " **Try** to use your intellect instead of your hormones this time."

"Man, I hate mornings," Duo yawned, pushing the kitchen door open and making a beeline for the coffee jar. "If you see a sunrise, you're either up too late or **way** too early... uh... am I interrupting something here?" he trailed off uncertainly, looking back and forth between the two Asian pilots.

"Not really," Wufei said flatly, not taking his eyes off Heero. " **I** was finished."

"Whoa," Duo whispered, dumping coffee and hot water into his mug and making a quick about-face. "The testosterone readings are off the scale today! I'm outta here."

Scuttling out the door, he quickly intercepted Quatre as the blond teen came out of his room. "Word to the wise, Q: do **not** walk in where angels fear to tread."

"Huh?" Quatre blinked at him fuzzily, sleep-tousled and not looking well rested at all.

"The **kitchen** , Quatre. I think we'd better treat it as a no-go zone until the coast is clear," Duo explained patiently. He glanced back in that direction as he heard the back door open and shut. "Heero and Wufei were in there just now, flexing their tempers at each other or something. I think one of 'em just left, but that leaves the other one in there with no ready target, so let's not offer ourselves as substitutes, 'kay? If you need a caffeine hit, you can have some of mine." With that, he focussed properly on Quatre for the first time and whistled quietly. "Looks like you **do** need some, Q. Bad night?"

"Bad dreams," Quatre sighed, accepting the mug of coffee and taking a sip. "When I could get to sleep at all, that is."

"You're welcome to bunk in with me tonight if you think it'll help," Duo offered sympathetically, nudging Quatre gently in the direction of the living room.

"I may take you up on that." Quatre took another sip, shuddering slightly. "How you can regularly drink double-strength coffee with no milk and no sugar, I don't know... It was mostly anxiety dreams. Seeing Trowa and **knowing** that something was about to happen to him, but not being able to warn him, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, well, dreams don't mean anything, right?"

"I know that! I'm empathic, not precognitive." He shuddered again, taking a larger mouthful of coffee and making a face. "I think I was incorporating what I, uh, **didn't** feel from Haan into the dreams, too. There was one where Trowa was walking along, talking to someone, but there wasn't anyone with him; just a black smudge in the air that was sucking the colour out of everything it went past, slowly getting closer and closer to him."

"Yuk!" Duo grimaced, plucking his mug out of Quatre's hands and taking a swig. "That settles it, you're definitely rooming with me tonight. **And** you're going with Haan next. The sooner you can hook up with Trowa again and see for yourself that he's fine, the better it'll be for everybody."

Quatre smiled wanly. "I'll be all right once we get the OK signal from Trowa to say they're safely through. Besides, we're supposed to avoid each other until the Doctors identify the traitor, remember?"

Duo snorted, passing the mug back. " **That** was just a recommendation, not an order, from the man who taught Heero everything he knows about paranoia. If the Doctors don't know where we are, it's not going to make any difference if you two stick together. Hell, we could **all** stick together."

"You get to convince Heero and Wufei, though," Quatre chuckled, starting to look happier.

"Easy. If the Doctors' organisation is as badly compromised as we think it is, the last information the traitor's going to have passed to OZ will be that we've been told to split up. Given that, it's almost a tactical necessity for us to do the opposite!" Duo grinned triumphantly. "Think they'll buy it?"

"I would."

"Great! Hmmm... you know, I've only had two mouthfuls of coffee so far this morning, but I'm awake and thinking. Walking into a Yui-Chang glaring contest must be a pretty good substitute for caffeine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gundam Wing, Sazan Aisu and the Mermaid Saga: don't own them, not getting paid, just having fun. Other programs and movies mentioned in this chapter are not mine in any way, and the comments made by the characters do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the writer. (Then again, they might. I'm not telling.)

"They aren't even glancing inside," Trowa muttered, nodding towards where a squad of OZ soldiers were examining a truck. "Waste of a good hologram, or whatever it is you do to make the load look right."

"We might still need it," Haan shrugged, shifting gears and slowing down as they approached the queue of vehicles waiting to be checked. "Maybe they only look inside trucks that are big enough to take a whole Gundam at once."

"True."

The OZ squad covering this road had set up two boom gates, far enough apart to let in one vehicle at a time. One by one, each car or truck was let into the enclosure, where it was thoroughly scanned and its occupants questioned; then the other gate was opened and it was let out. Vehicles coming into the blockaded area got similar treatment, but the scanning and questioning only took about half as long.

_Of course,_ Trowa thought wryly. _They're looking for people -- us -- trying to get **out** , not in._

"Here." Haan's hand materialised in front of his nose, waving a couple of banknotes. "Go get us lunch. Put the jacket on first, though, it changes your profile."

"Let me guess," Trowa sighed, taking the money and glancing towards the small roadside cafe Haan was indicating. Half a dozen OZ soldiers seemed to be eating their own lunches at its outdoor tables, and there were probably more inside. "This is another time when if we act like we have nothing to hide, nobody will suspect us?"

"Don't forget coffee," Haan grinned. "Black, two sugars."

"The principle is sound, but I think you overuse it," Trowa said pointedly, shrugging into the jacket as he opened his door. Haan just pushed a CD into the player and turned the volume up, settling back into his seat as if he had all the time in the world to wait for the OZ troops to get around to him.

The European pilot had barely taken three steps away from Ryuukossei when there was a shout from further along the road. "Hey! You there, in the blue jacket! Where do you think you're going?"

"Boss wants lunch," Trowa called back, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the truck and trying to sound bored.

"Hmph. All right, but make it quick! The queue's moving, you know," the officer said pompously, waving him towards the cafe.

"That's what **he** said," Trowa agreed, walking casually towards his destination while his heart slowly settled back into its proper place. Normally he wouldn't have been bothered by the idea of walking into a group of enemy soldiers -- he'd done it before, after all -- but this time he wasn't in their uniform, and they were specifically looking for him. Besides which, having his bangs slicked back over his head instead of hiding half his face was making him more nervous than he'd expected. _This is **stupid**!_

Stupid or not, it seemed to work. He was able to walk into the cafe, buy sandwiches and coffee, and walk out again without anyone else giving him a second look... or even a first look, in many cases.

_Something's going on,_ he decided, as for the third time an OZ soldier looked past him to glare suspiciously at someone else. _These guys are alert, they're professional, they're careful... everybody's getting checked out **except** me!_

"Did you do something?" he asked under his breath as he climbed back into the truck cabin.

"What do you mean?" Haan asked, just as quietly, taking his coffee and sipping.

"There was a lieutenant comparing everyone's faces to a handful of Identikit pictures. He didn't look at me. All the other soldiers were paying attention to faces, but not mine. Did you bribe every OZ soldier at this roadblock to ignore anyone wearing this jacket, or what?" Trowa whispered, half seriously.

There was a long pause as Haan released the brakes and let Ryuukossei roll forwards as the queue moved; then he sighed. "Bribes don't work," he said obliquely, not quite answering the question. "There's always one person who takes the money and then turns around and tells his bosses about you anyway."

"All right, so you didn't bribe them. Did you do something **else**?"

"You're entirely too observant for my peace of mind, you know." Haan glanced over at Trowa as he reached for a sandwich, and grimaced as his eyes met the pilot's intense stare. "Yes, I did something. No, I won't tell you what. Just keep that jacket **on** until we're clear."

Trowa might have kept arguing, but an OZ officer was walking down the line of cars and trucks towards them, carrying a datapad. Abandoning the issue to wait until they had privacy, he sat back and occupied himself with a sandwich, resolving to dissect his jacket down to its component threads at the earliest opportunity.

\----------

_I half expected that one or more of them would get suspicious,_ Haan thought, pretending to watch the approaching officer, _but I definitely didn't expect it this soon! It's the first time he's used that jacket, damn it, and he realised right away that something was going on._

A lifetime's habit -- a **long** lifetime's habit -- was telling him to forget his contract, dump Trowa and Heavyarms somewhere and leave, abandon his current identity and vanish again before the Gundam pilots could find out anything more about what he could do... and what he was. And yet...

_I took their money. Not much of it, maybe, but I took it, and I said I'd get them out. Without me, they won't get out without a fight. They might not get out at all._

_It would prove Heero was right to be suspicious about me. It would prove that Duo was wrong to trust me._

_Hell. I wish he **didn't** trust me! It would make this decision a lot easier if they were all acting like Heero..._

"What can I do you for, Major?" he asked in a lazy voice, leaning out the window as the OZ officer walked up to his door and deliberately overestimating his rank.

"It's Lieutenant," the young man said stiffly, handing up the datapad. "If you could fill in the questions on this form before you reach the inspection point, your clearance through the perimeter will be expedited."

"Gotcha." Haan pulled the stylus out of its clip on the side of the pad and started to read the form, scrawling nearly illegible answers onto the pressure-sensitive surface. Filling in the details of his current false identity and listing Trowa as 'temporary relief driver, Tomas Brent', he watched the lieutenant march away and frowned.

_How they're acting towards me is irrelevant,_ he told himself coldly. _Look at the problem logically. If I forget the contract and go underground, I'll be significantly safer in the short term. On the other hand, OZ will get a serious advantage, maybe even enough to end the war here and now... and in the **long** term, that could be far more dangerous for me than anything the Gundam pilots might do._

_I should stick with the contract,_ Haan decided, and tried to ignore the feeling of relief as he persuaded himself to do exactly what he **wanted** to do, anyway.

\----------

"And you have a cargo of... ah..." The officer in charge of the small detachment physically examining vehicles peered at Haan's messy writing, squinting. Unlike the lieutenant Haan had 'accidentally' promoted, she was a real major.

"Vases and stuff," Haan shrugged. "Little statues. I can open a container or two if you want, but I'll have to get you to sign a note formally requesting me to break the seals. Insurance company requires it," he explained, sounding bored.

"I don't believe that will be necessary, sir," she said politely, hitting a key to advance the pad's display to the next screen. "Assuming our scans confirm the nature of your cargo, that is. Will this be your only trip through the area?"

"No. Got a contract for six more runs. Same company, different destinations, different cargoes."

"I see," she murmured, expression slightly sharper as she looked up from the pad. She had a good view into Ryuukossei's cabin through Haan's open door, and her eyes were alert as she checked him over... and then she looked at Trowa and visibly lost interest, bored eyes sliding away from his face and back to the pad. "So we'll be seeing you both again?"

"Just me. Brent's working his way south. I'll be dropping him off, same time as the cargo. I don't have a regular relief driver, but the insurance on this contract requires one, so I'll be taking temps with me on my trips out."

_If anything should have made her suspicious, that was it!_ Trowa thought, keeping his face expressionless with an effort as the major just nodded, eyes on the datapad. _He as good as told her 'I'll be driving a very large truck out of your search zone, several times, taking people I can't vouch for with me', but she didn't even twitch! The way they're running this checkpoint, we should be flat on the ground being searched, interrogated and fingerprinted right about now._

Pressing one hand against her ear as a faint crackle came from her tiny communications headset, the major nodded and then smiled at Haan, totally ignoring Trowa. "Well, sir, since my scan team has just confirmed your cargo, I don't see any reason to delay you any longer. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Be seeing you," Haan grinned, pulling his door shut as the reinforced boom gate ahead of him swung up out of the way.

Haan drove in silence for almost fifteen minutes, getting clear of the roadblock and out of sensor range of the OZ forces covering it; then he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, shut off the engine, and just sat there.

"...What's wrong?" Trowa asked quietly.

"Go ahead," Haan told him, looking straight ahead through the windscreen.

"Go ahead and what?" the European pilot asked wryly. "Get out and walk? Sing? Punch you?"

A faint snort escaped Haan, and he finally turned to look at his passenger. "I imagine you have a few things you'd like to say," he replied, voice just as wry. "Go ahead."

Trowa raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I don't know that it'll do me any good. I have several questions I want to ask, yes, but you haven't exactly been forthcoming with answers whenever questions have come up before."

"Good point," Haan murmured, mouth twisting into what was almost a smile. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment, then shrugged. "If they're about my methods, don't bother asking them," he said flatly. "If they're about my capabilities, or my motivations, I'll probably answer. Up to you."

"There's obviously no point in asking you how this jacket does what it does, then," Trowa said, tugging at the collar.

"Exactly."

"How about 'what'? What **does** it do? What are its limits? Does it run out of power? Is it good enough to make Lady Une ignore me, considering that she's actually met me before and knows who I am, or not? Will it make people ignore me even if I'm acting suspiciously?" Trowa ran out of fingers to tick points off on and stopped, smiling faintly. "Is that enough questions to start with, or shall I go on?"

Haan snorted again, sitting back. "It's a start," he agreed dryly, then drummed his fingers again as he thought for a second. "It... makes people lose interest," he said slowly. "They come up with their own reasons **why** \-- decide they've already checked you, or you don't look right after all, or whatever -- but the end result is that they convince themselves you aren't the person they're looking for."

Trowa nearly choked, abruptly sputtering with laughter. "You mean this jacket does the Jedi Mind Trick?!"

Haan blinked at him for a moment, then slowly smiled. "I thought I was almost the only person who still remembered that movie," he murmured quietly.

"Duo," Trowa snickered, shaking his head. "Blame Duo. He has the weirdest collection of old cult movies and series on disk. All fifteen Star Wars movies, Star Trek, Blake's 7, It Came From Outer Space, X-Files, something **really** surreal called Mister Ed, the full Redemption Station series from the late 21st century, including the legendary lost episode... and that's just the ones he's managed to get the rest of us to watch. I'd heard of Redemption Station before, but all of the older stuff was completely new to me."

"I should have guessed," Haan sighed, then cleared his throat, wincing. "Anyway. The jacket has more limitations than the Force. If it's damaged in the wrong place, it'll stop working, and it can't do much if there's nobody else around for people to redirect their attention to. It won't work against anyone who knows you, it doesn't work if you're being watched through a surveillance system, and it won't work if you're caught clutching explosives in the middle of a restricted base, but it doesn't run out of power. Next?"

"You all right to keep talking?" Trowa asked, gesturing vaguely towards Haan's throat, and he grimaced, hand automatically going to his collar and tugging it up a fraction.

"A bit longer, yeah."

"Then it's probably a good thing I only have one more serious question. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why everything," Trowa shrugged. "Why are you so secretive? Why are you helping us even though it puts your secrets at risk?"

"I'm helping you because you're fighting OZ," Haan began, and Trowa quickly lifted a hand to cut him off.

"And why are you so strongly against OZ?" he added, holding Haan's eyes with his own. "I know you've said they annoy you. **Why** do they annoy you so much that you'll take this sort of risk to help their enemies?"

Haan looked away first, staring out the windshield again, and when he spoke his voice had a more serious tone than Trowa had heard from him before. "My entire lifestyle, and sometimes my life, depend on my ability to vanish at will," he said slowly. "I change locations whenever I want to, I change identities, and I won't -- I **can't** \-- give that up. Totalitarian governments keep tight enough track of people's movements and identities to make things difficult. At the moment, I can just stay away from that sort of country... but OZ are trying to become a system-wide totalitarian government, and if they win, I won't have anywhere to go. That's why I am 'annoyed' by what they are now," he said grimly, glancing at Trowa and away again, "and it's also why I am scared shitless by what they could become."

He stared blindly out the window for a while, jaw muscles tight, then gradually relaxed. "As for why I'm so secretive," he said, reaching for the keys in the ignition, "it's because I have a lot of secrets that I don't want anybody to find out."

"Not even Duo?" Trowa asked quietly, and Haan paused halfway through putting Ryuukossei in gear.

"Especially not Duo," he said bleakly, shoved the gear lever forwards and drove off.

\----------

Ten minutes later...

"The first three Star Wars movies are the only ones worth watching."

"The first three in the timeline, or the first three made?"

"First ones made. They went downhill from there."

"Mmm... you have a point. What about the fourth one, though?"

" _*snort*_ Be serious! Queen Amidala, prisoner of her own hairstyle."

"True. And then there was... what's his name? The annoying alien."

"Jar Jar Binks. Ugh."

"Duo calls him 'Dur Dur'."

" _*snicker*_ I **knew** he had good taste."

* * * * *

Duo and Quatre were sprawled on the lawn again, watching puffy white clouds drift across the sky, when Wufei leaned out the front door and called to them.

"Duo? Quatre? Trowa's on the com."

Quatre rolled to his feet faster than even Heero could have managed on a good day and bolted for the house, leaving Duo scrambling in his wake. "Secure or normal com?" he snapped as he barrelled past Wufei.

"Secure!" Wufei shouted down the hall after him, then leaned against the wall, chuckling. Duo jogged up the steps and stopped next to him, resting one arm on his shoulder as he shook his head incredulously.

"Ya know, Wufei, I honestly think Q-man would've left a cloud of black smoke behind him if he'd been wearing rubber-soled shoes," he said in awed tones. "Who knew he could hit mach five from a standing start like that?"

"Lying-down start, you mean," Wufei corrected him, still chuckling. "He had motivation, after all. Shall we dawdle slightly on our way in, and give him a little time to talk to Trowa alone?"

"Sounds good to me," Duo nodded, then shoved his hands into his pockets and began to mosey down the hall at a snail's pace. "Did Tro say anything other than 'hi' before you came to get us? Was Haan there?"

"Trowa's calling from Heavyarms," the Chinese pilot informed him, matching his casual pace. "He said that Haan dropped him off, and will be starting back here for his next pickup once he's made his cover delivery."

"Well, that just about proves that Haan's got accomplices," Duo pointed out. "Since he doesn't **have** anything else to deliver, either he's got to get somebody to sign off on a nonexistent delivery, or he's got to pick up something matching his manifest to take to the warehouse."

"Which pushes him further into negative returns on this job," Wufei said thoughtfully, "unless they're working for nothing because they hate OZ too."

"Yeah," Duo said, voice suddenly flat as he stopped dead in the middle of the hall. "Look... Wufei... what do **you** think of him?" he said in a rush, running his hand nervously through his bangs. "You think we can trust him?"

" **You're** asking **me**? You've been his steadfast defender all along, Duo! What's happened to make you doubt him?" Wufei asked, startled.

"I don't! Not really," Duo insisted, glancing towards the doors at the end of the hall and keeping his voice down. "It's just that, well, normally we all think pretty much alike, right? If you make allowances for Heero's institutional paranoia and Quatre's occasional Pollyanna moment, we're usually on the same wavelength. If one of us trusts someone, then given the same evidence, the rest of us will trust that person too. And we're usually **right**! I rely on everyone's judgement the way I rely on my own. But this time..."

"This time, Heero's opinion is so different from yours that it's making you wonder who's wrong?" Wufei asked quietly.

"It wouldn't be so bad if it was just Heero," Duo sighed, "but Quatre's got kind of twitchy about Haan, too, and--"

"Really? He didn't say anything," Wufei interrupted, frowning.

"I think he didn't want to 'cause it's an empathy thing, and you know how Heero is about **that** ," Duo snorted. "He doesn't get anything wrong from Haan, but he doesn't get anything else, either, and that makes him nervous. The thing is, when we were talking about it last night, he said something that got me wondering... Sure, Haan saved my butt four months ago," he said unhappily, "but I don't really know anything else about him. What if I **am** wrong to trust him without reservations?"

"I rely on everyone else's judgement, too, and I trust your instincts a **lot** further than I trust Heero's paranoia," Wufei scowled. "Besides, Howard trusts him too, remember? Don't start doubting yourself, Duo; you've got no reason to. Heero has his own reasons for disliking Haan, and he's allowing them to affect his judgement."

"Yeah... the whole stupid kiss thing," Duo sighed, looking a little happier. "Beats me why it bothers him so much, though. I mean, I kissed Quatre once as a joke, and Heero just called me an idiot!"

Wufei coughed uncomfortably, a faint flush creeping over his cheekbones. "Er... call it a personality conflict," he suggested, tugging nervously at his short ponytail. "In any case, I think the strongest proof of Haan's trustworthiness is the fact that nothing untoward happened when he picked Trowa up. He **knew** we'd all be there, with only two Gundams present to reduce the risk of being picked up by OZ, and although it was a good spot for security and privacy it was also a good spot for an ambush. It was his best chance to catch us all in one swoop, if that was his intent."

"True!" Duo said cheerfully, perking up and starting to walk down the hall again.

"Of course, this won't stop Heero from insisting that he might just be lulling us into a false sense of security," Wufei added dryly, falling into step beside him.

"Yeah, well, now that I'm back to my normal stellar levels of self-confidence, Heero can kiss my ass," Duo said belligerently, chuckling as Wufei choked and coughed violently. "Thanks, Wu-man!" he added brightly, bouncing ahead. "I needed to hear that."

"Any time, Duo," Wufei sighed, barely above a whisper. "Any time."

"...good to hear," Quatre was saying as they walked into the room, looking genuinely happy for the first time since Trowa left. "Did you have any problems going through the checkpoint?"

[...Not really,] Trowa said slowly, and Heero looked up from where he was leaning against the wall.

"What happened?"

[Haan doesn't just play with holograms.] Trowa looked past Quatre out of the screen, raising an eyebrow. [Is Duo there? He's going to love this.]

One explanation later...

"Ya know, it would be sooooo useful if we could just get hold of a few of those jackets," Duo mused, hanging over Quatre's shoulder with an avaricious glitter in his eyes. "D'you think he'd sell us one or two? Or five?"

[The impression I get is 'no',] Trowa said dryly. [We've survived without anything like them before, Duo; I think we'll keep managing without them in the future.]

"How does he do it? Sonics?" Duo asked. "Some ultra-low frequencies make people uneasy. Maybe he's hit on a different frequency that makes people bored!"

[I have no idea,] Trowa admitted. [I don't think sonics would be specific enough, though... or at least, I can't think of a way to focus them tightly enough to prevent people around you from being disinterested in **everything**. I was planning to take the jacket apart, but I didn't get a chance to, and I didn't exactly have access to Heavyarms's sensors at the time.]

"If he's got this sort of capability," Heero said grimly, "I for one find it suspicious that we've never heard of him before."

The other four pilots hid their collective wince with varying degrees of success; then, Duo slowly straightened up and sighed theatrically, turning to face him. "Gee, Heero, and here I was just thinking that maybe we've never heard of him before **because** he's got all these cool widgets to keep himself out of trouble. Or maybe it's got something to do with the fact that we're all colony brats and he operates on Earth! But no, Mister Yui, He Who Suspects Absolutely Everything has spoken, so of **course** the real reason we never heard of Haan before I met him is because he was lying in wait, lurking around random bars waiting for a Gundam pilot to fall into his clutches, get rescued from the stereotypical Minions Of Evil, and trust him! This, of course, was only the first step in his Byzantine master plan," he continued, voice rising as Heero tried to interrupt the flood of increasingly angry words. "You know, the one where he gets us **all** to trust him and then hands us over to Lady Une's tender mercies. We're talking **really** Byzantine here, 'cause only a dedicated conspiracy theorist would believe that somebody would actually try something this complicated and chancy -- especially since, hey, would you believe it, Haan actually had a perfect opportunity to spring his hypothetical trap yesterday, and **nothing happened**! I guess he musta **forgot** , huh, Heero?!"

"It's classic deception tactics to pass up an early opportunity in order to set your enemy up for a later attack," Heero said stiffly, fists clenched.

"Ten points to Chang for predicting **that** line," Duo said sourly, throwing up his hands. "Not that it was hard to see coming, or anything! Shit, Heero, get the stick out of your damn ass and just admit that you don't have a single solitary concrete reason for distrusting Haan! And do it quick, all right, 'cause it's making you act like a total jerk and I'm getting sick of it. Grow a brain cell and get **over** this, or I'm gonna give up talking to you until you can hold a rational conversation again."

* * * * *

"Thanks for the help getting it all unloaded," the warehouse supervisor said gratefully, shaking Haan's hand. "As shorthanded as we are, I honestly didn't think we were going to get all the containers in before the local delivery vans arrived to start taking the orders out, much less get them unpacked in time!"

"No problem," Haan told him, patting him on the shoulder and then swinging up into Ryuukossei's cabin. "Got my own schedule to keep, after all."

"Well, it's appreciated. Come by the next time you're in the area, and I'll buy you a drink, okay?"

"Deal," Haan smiled, and started the engine.

There was a quiet sound underlying the usual engine noises as he drove away, a low, intermittent rumble, and Haan's smile widened as he recognised it. "Happy?" he murmured softly, patting the console in front of him, and the purring rumble got louder.

_=alone. good.=_

"You don't like carrying passengers?"

_=not talk to me.=_ The mental 'voice' conveyed images and feelings more than words, and there was a definite pout in it.

"Well, I can't when humans are around. You know that."

_=then not carry passengers,=_ Ryuukossei said bluntly.

Haan sighed. "Just four more times, I promise, then it'll be just us again. Okay?"

_=...like last one?=_

"How do you mean?"

_=other four have big metal to hide too?=_ the truck asked plaintively.

"Yes," Haan said cautiously, hoping that Ryuukossei hadn't abruptly decided it didn't like the spell that had kept Heavyarms hidden. The truck -- or rather, the spirit that was currently being a truck -- had taken a sudden dislike to one of Haan's security wards about two years earlier, saying it 'itched', and he'd had to stop using it.

_=okay then.=_

"Why does that make it okay?" he asked, startled.

_=nearly awake. maybe others awake, talk to me.=_

Haan blinked a few times, absorbing that bit of information, then shrugged. _It's almost unheard-of for an object spirit to develop in something that's less than fifty years old, and so far as I know the Gundams haven't even been around for **one**... but they are the focus of the hopes and fears of billions of people. I suppose that could accelerate the process..._

_So could spending a couple of days **inside** another object spirit._ Haan snorted as a possibility occurred to him. _I wonder how the pilots would react if their Gundams suddenly started talking back to them? Not that it's likely, even if the spirits **do** wake fully, but it's an amusing idea._

"How close to awake was the Gundam?" he asked curiously.

_=?=_

"The big metal," he explained patiently.

As he drove on, a good percentage of Haan's attention was occupied with imagining the look on Heero's face if Wing ever told him to soak his head.


	5. Chapter 5

Once again, Haan was picking up a Gundam and pilot; this time, though, his answers to Duo's cheerful banter were slightly distracted. More than half his attention was on Sandrock (currently being loaded onto Ryuukossei) and Wing (standing guard), trying to sense whether or not they were 'inhabited' by more than just their pilots.

 _I'm pretty sure there's nothing spiritual happening to Wing,_ he mused, regretfully discarding his private daydream of a self-aware Gundam someday telling Heero what he could do with his paranoia. _It's not surprising, I guess... Heero may spend a lot of time working with it, but I'm sure he's never personified it in his own mind, and without that stimulus the creation of an object spirit is nearly impossible. Sandrock, though..._

Straightening up after tightening a restraining strap around Sandrock's legs, Haan laid one hand on the sun-warmed metal and concentrated, closing his eyes. There was a faint flicker of **something** , just at the edge of his awareness, but he couldn't tell if it was what he was looking for. _It could just be the fact that Quatre obviously loves **his** Gundam; I could be picking up on the echo of his feelings, imprinted into the metal. Or it could be a spirit that's just on the point of coming into existence; if that's it, though, it's a spirit that has absolutely no interest in communicating with me--_

"You okay?"

The faint sense of 'something there' vanished as Haan opened his eyes and found himself looking straight at Duo's concerned face. "Uh... yes. I'm fine."

"You sure? You looked kinda spacey for a moment there."

"Just thinking about something," Haan said dismissively, stepping over the end of the restraining strap and bending to tighten the next one. _I'm not going to be able to work out if that really is a spirit without setting up a full-scale focus circle around Sandrock, and somehow I think that would be a **little** more difficult to explain away than 'looking spacey'. It's not that important._

_Besides, I can always ask Ryuukossei later._

\----------

"Will you be all right travelling with Haan?" Wufei asked quietly, helping Quatre strap down one of Sandrock's arms.

"Yes, of course," the blond pilot said, just a fraction too quickly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Duo... mentioned that you can't 'feel' him, and that makes you uncomfortable." Wufei shot an unreadable glance at Quatre, then bent to pick up the next strap.

 _ **Damn**._ Quatre could feel a blush heating up his cheeks, and knew his voice sounded a little strained as he answered. "I'll be alone with him for less than two days. I can manage." He hesitated for a moment, then swallowed and went on. "I realise it sounds irrational, but--"

"I don't think it's irrational," Wufei cut him off, voice still low. "I'm willing to accept that you can sense things I can't. One of my cousins can hear higher pitches than I can, right up to bats' sonar; I'm not going to call **him** irrational, just because I can't confirm those sounds exist with my own senses."

"...There's a **slightly** larger degree of difference in my case," Quatre pointed out wryly. "You can at least sense **some** sounds, so it's easy to accept that the others are real."

Wufei chuckled. "True. True. But I believe in radio waves, too, and I can't sense them at all... and yes, I know that's not a very good analogy either, because I can see their effects on my instruments. Every time you've had a 'feeling' strong enough to risk telling the rest of us about it, though, you've been right. I believe in things that give demonstrable results. Besides..."

"Besides, what?" Quatre asked, when it was clear that Wufei wasn't going to continue.

"Besides," Wufei said, a little reluctantly, "my clan has a history of... ah... dealings with things that could be termed 'supernatural'. I was raised to believe that there are more things in this world than can be explained scientifically. I was **also** raised to be sceptical until hoaxes and conventional causes have been ruled out, of course," he added dryly, "but I don't think you're trying to swindle me out of my life savings by pretending to pass on messages from my ancestors, so..."

"So you're not going to tell me that I'm either delusional or hysterical?" Quatre said, a little more bitterly than he'd meant to.

"Exactly. To misquote Shakespeare, 'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in Heero's philosophy'. He doesn't even believe in chi energy, so-- hm." Eyeing Quatre, Wufei decided there wasn't any point in continuing, since the Arab pilot probably wasn't going to stop laughing any time soon, and moved on to fasten the next strap with a smile on his face.

\----------

"What's the fake load this time?" Duo asked cheerfully, standing next to Haan as they watched the walls of Ryuukossei's cargo compartment fold up around Sandrock.

"A different batch of reproduction Ming vases and statuettes," Haan told him, glancing sideways at Quatre and Wufei as he swung the doors closed. "Bigger ones. --Ryuukossei! Manifest load!"

Following Haan's look towards the other pilots, Duo grinned. "C'mon guys, tell me what's so funny!"

Quatre snickered quietly, and Wufei's serene smile widened a fraction, but they didn't answer.

"Sheesh... they've been chortling to themselves for the last five minutes, and they still won't explain," Duo grumbled half-heartedly. "Oi! Heero! Scanning OK?"

[Fine,] Heero snapped. [Now let's clear the area before an OZ patrol turns up.] Without another word, he turned Wing around and walked off into the forest, vanishing from sight.

"'Goodbye, Quatre'," Duo sing-songed under his breath, glaring after the departing Gundam. "'Have a nice trip. Say hi to Trowa. Good luck going through OZ's perimeter.' Would it really have been so hard for him to say something like that?"

"Apparently," Quatre sighed, reaching out to stop Haan as he began to lock the doors. "May I have a look before we go?"

Haan swung the doors open again, and Quatre peered in with an almost awed expression. "That's still amazing," he murmured, looking at the ranks of plastic shipping containers strapped to the walls of the cargo compartment. "I know it's there, but I can't even see the boundary where the false image ends and reality begins."

"Talk about attention to detail," Duo said, looking over Quatre's shoulder. "There's dusty footprints on the floor, and you've even got a 'loose strap' on one of the containers!"

" **Don't** try to tighten it," Haan advised, beginning to close the doors once more.

"No, Trowa told us what you said about it not being safe in there while your anti-scanner whateveritis is running," Quatre assured him, stepping back. "Besides, I'd feel rather silly trying to tighten a strap that isn't actually there!"

"Just hope that no OZ jerk tries it," Duo snorted, scooping up Quatre's bag in one hand and throwing the other arm around his shoulder. "Not that anyone would notice if some more of them went insane... Hey, maybe if we got Psycho Bitch Une to search Haan's truck in person she'd turn normal!" Laughing, he towed Quatre off towards Ryuukossei's cabin, and Wufei rolled his eyes and followed.

"I don't think so," Haan muttered under his breath, watching them go. "Catatonic maybe, but not normal..." The instant all of the pilots were out of sight around the corner of the trailer, he leaned in, grabbed the loose strap and yanked it tight, slapping the fastener to make sure it was secure.

 _ **That** could have been a problem,_ he thought grimly, straightening up and locking the doors behind him. _Quatre might find the idea of a perfect hologram a little harder to accept if the 'illusionary' packing crates came loose and started sliding around, complete with loud smashing noises from the 'fake' pottery inside!_

"Need a hand with anything?" Duo asked, poking his head back around the corner. "Locking up? Polishing the headlights? Test-wearing one of those cool jackets you probably weren't planning on telling us about?"

"I take it that Trowa didn't stop after filling you in on my 'trick's' side effects?" Haan said, calm face showing no sign of how glad he was that Duo hadn't come back a few seconds earlier.

"Yeah, well, a Jedi Jacket is **way** too cool to be kept a secret from your friends," Duo said mock-reproachfully, falling into step beside Haan as they walked. "I don't suppose you make bigger sizes? Like, XXXXXXXXXXXXXX-L sized?"

Haan just looked at him with an eyebrow raised, and Duo grinned sheepishly. "Thought not... but it was worth asking."

"Yes, Duo, I **could** make one big enough for Deathscythe to wear," Haan said dryly, "but it wouldn't work. A Gundam, no matter where it is or what it's doing, is even more suspicious-looking than you would be if you were caught in the middle of a secret OZ base, grinning insanely, dripping explosives and fumbling with a timer, while wearing a pink tutu and a T-shirt that said 'BOOM'. Even I can only do so much."

* * * * *

"Something wrong?" Haan asked abruptly, half an hour down the road from where he'd picked Quatre and Sandrock up.

"Uh, ah, no," Quatre stuttered, startled. "Um, I guess... I'm just a little tense."

"I noticed. Anything I can do something about?"

"I don't think so."

Haan shrugged. "If that changes, let me know. In the meantime, try not to look like you want to jump out and run for it," he added, softening the instruction with a half-smile.

Quatre managed a weak grin, sitting back and trying to make himself relax. Spending time alone with Haan was turning out to be harder than he had thought...

 _I never realised how much I depended on my empathy,_ he thought miserably, _until now. I've finally met somebody it won't work on, and it feels horrible!_

Haan was a living, breathing presence next to him, able to be seen and heard and even smelled, a faint musky scent that seemed to come from his hair and clothes. Quatre could feel the seat shift under him as Haan moved, knew that if he reached out he'd feel warm cloth and skin... and as far as his sixth sense was concerned, there was nobody there. He'd learned very quickly that it was best to sit so that he could always see Haan out of the corner of his eye, since if he didn't he had to fight down the urge to lunge across and grab the wheel because it felt like nobody was driving.

It didn't help that he hadn't slept well since Trowa left, either. He'd thought that his anxiety dreams would stop once Trowa contacted them to say that he got out safely, and the call **had** made him feel a little better... but then there had been Duo's argument with Heero over Wing's pilot still being suspicious of Haan, and Duo and Quatre's argument with Heero over whether he or Quatre should go next, and **everybody's** argument with Heero over whether they should work together or separately after they made it out of OZ's search zone. It had been a pleasant surprise to have both Trowa (via the comm) and Wufei taking their side against Heero, but it still had been very stressful. Instead of dreaming about his lover walking into danger with a drifting black blob next to him, Quatre had spent the night dreaming about watching **himself** walking into OZ ambushes while the colour leached out of the world around him.

"You mind having some semi-permanent dye in your hair?"

Blinking, Quatre looked over at Haan. "Um, no. No, that would be fine."

"Good. It'll wear off eventually," Haan added, "but I want something that won't come off if you get rained on, and the dyes last longer in pale hair. It'll take a while."

"That's all right. What colour were you thinking of?"

"Red. A lot of redheads have blue eyes, so it won't look strange."

Quatre blinked again, trying to imagine himself with red hair and not having much success. "I'd wondered if you changed Trowa's hairstyle as camouflage," he mused, half to himself, "but I guess not..."

"Camouflage?"

"Er..." Quatre could feel himself starting to blush again, and silently damned his fair complexion. _Though it will make it easier to pretend to be a natural redhead!_ "When I found out about what that jacket you lent Trowa did, I thought perhaps you'd disguised him to keep him from wondering why nobody recognised him, rather than to keep OZ from spotting him. But if you're going to disguise the rest of us even though we know about the jacket now..." He let the last sentence trail off, and Haan grinned.

"It's still worthwhile. I don't know if Trowa told you about the sp-- jacket's limitations, but the less you look like yourself, the less work the jacket has to do... and if you're seen through a surveillance system, or somebody who already knows you is at the roadblock, a physical disguise is the only thing that will help you."

 _'Sp-- jacket'?_ Quatre thought. _What starts with 'sp' that could cause the effect that jacket has?_

\----------

A little later, Quatre was finding out that he looked damn good with red hair. He was distracted from this discovery, however, when Haan brought out the clothes he was expected to wear.

"I can't," he insisted, actually backing a couple of steps away from the boots Haan was holding out to him. "I wouldn't look right. I can't **act** right. It won't work!"

"They'll fit you," Haan said matter-of-factly.

"it's not whether or not they'll fit me!" Quatre protested. "It's whether or not I can project the sort of attitude that goes with that outfit, and believe me, I can't!"

The jeans and jacket were black denim, scuffed and worn, embellished with chains and studs in strategic places. The t-shirt was at least white, but it was torn and looked like it would be a couple of sizes too small. And the boots... The boots were a leather-and-buckle fetishist's wet dream, that was the only way to describe them.

"I can't," Quatre repeated, looking decidedly squeamish.

"Yes, you can."

"Really, I--"

"I don't have enough voice left to argue you into them," Haan interrupted, scooping the outfit into a ball and bundling it into Quatre's unwilling arms. "Put them on, and I'll explain."

The only consolation Quatre had as Haan stared him down was the thought that once Haan actually **saw** him in the clothes, even he would have to admit that the idea was ridiculous. It certainly seemed ridiculous to Quatre...

Even when Quatre was standing in front of him, though, feeling very small and embarrassed, Haan still seemed to think it was possible.

"I would need to swagger to make this believable," Quatre said quietly. "Duo can swagger. The others could stalk, and glare, and make it work. I'm the only one who can't."

"In other words, you're always polite and self-effacing, and would never dream of doing something like this yourself," Haan said bluntly, making it a statement rather than a question. "That's why it **can** work for you. Nobody who knows anything about you would think that a redhead in tough's gear could possibly be Quatre Raberba Winner in disguise."

"That won't help if I can't behave the right way!"

"You can. You just aren't thinking about this from the right angle. You don't need to act like a violent gang member. You just have to act... arrogant," Haan told him, smiling faintly. "As if you can do whatever you want, whenever you like, and nobody can stop you. Nobody impresses you. Quite the opposite. Imagine..." He paused, thinking, and the smile widened. "Imagine that you have just walked into a conference room," he said softly. "Facing you are several men who think they are in control. **Following** you is an assistant, carrying the documents that prove you now own 51% of their company's stock. You know they are all incompetent, you have heard disgusting stories about their personal habits, you intend to fire every last one of them, and **they can't stop you**.

"Get the idea?"

"...I think so," Quatre admitted eventually. "I can do that sort of arrogant, I think, if I'm careful to stay in the right frame of mind. I'll need to do it well to outweigh my disadvantages, though."

" **What** disadvantages?" Haan asked incredulously. Just as incredulous that Haan couldn't or wouldn't see what was so obvious to him, Quatre stared back.

"Look at me!" he sputtered, holding his arms out to the sides. "I'm hardly the most physically impressive person around!"

"You're--" Haan's voice cracked painfully, and he winced, one hand lifting towards his throat. "Damn, I hope this isn't going to happen every trip," he whispered, tugging at his turtleneck. "You're a **Gundam pilot** ," he hissed, glaring so intensely that Quatre forgot all about asking if he were all right. "You **have** to be stronger than average to do that. Don't even try to tell me you're weak!"

"No, but-- I'm short, and I don't **look** strong--"

"Gods save us from people with bad self-images," Haan whispered wearily. "Quatre... how tall are Heero and Wufei?"

Automatically, Quatre held his hand flat, a couple of inches above his own head.

"No. They are **exactly** the same height you are. They just seem taller to you because they act strong and confident, and sometimes arrogant, and you're subconsciously interpreting that as added physical presence. Trust me," Haan rasped, forcing the last few words out through uncooperative vocal chords, "people either won't notice that you're short, or they won't **care**."

* * * * *

Duo was beginning to think that he should have let Heero take the second trip out, after all.

"Ya know, it would've been easier to deal with Quatre moping without Trowa than Heero in Uber Paranoid mode," he muttered bitterly.

"For you, perhaps," Wufei muttered back. "Myself, I find that there are only so many times I can say 'there, there' in a soothing tone of voice before I develop an overwhelming urge to do something violent."

"Well, if you feel the need to be violent, there's a suitable body upstairs to be violent at," Duo snorted. "You'll find him in front of his laptop, as usual, and as annoying as hell, also as usual."

Wufei looked at him a little strangely. "I thought you were... ah... chasing him?"

"You noticed, too, huh?"

"Duo," the Chinese pilot said flatly, "I think that Yui is the only person who **didn't**."

"Yeah, well, I've given it up for Revised Lent," Duo said flippantly, staring out the window at the trees around the safehouse. "'Revised' as in 'for good', that is. It's not like it was getting me anywhere with him, after all."

"I never could work out why you started," Wufei said under his breath.

It didn't go unheard. "I'm beginning to wonder myself," Duo sighed, suddenly serious. "I honestly did think it could work as a serious relationship, if I could just get him to notice me... but now, I just want to smack some sense into him and surely the attraction wouldn't evaporate so fast unless it was just a crush to begin with. I mean, I'd already backed off a bit because I was tired of getting no response... I dunno. Maybe I was just fascinated by the challenge."

"You took Heero on as a **challenge**?" Wufei raised one eyebrow. "That's rather more masochistic than I've come to expect from you."

"It would only be masochistic if I'd made a conscious decision to beat my head against that particular brick wall. I didn't."

"Crypto-masochistic, then."

Duo picked up a battered sofa cushion and threatened Wufei with it for a moment, then sobered again. "Aah, can the pseudo-analytical vocabulary, will ya? I never thought of it this way before, but Heero is the only person I've ever found even vaguely attractive who hasn't reacted to me in some way. Even if people aren't interested in **doing** anything, they at least notice that, hey, there are other people out there who are sexual beings, right? I noticed Quatre and Trowa, they noticed me, **you** noticed me, and I sure as hell noticed that Heero is a damn fine physical specimen who presumably has a libido buried in there somewhere with the rest of his suppressed hormones! But as for noticing other people, from what I've seen, Heero evaluates everyone around him as collections of strengths and weaknesses, nothing more." Dumping the cushion back in place, he flopped down on top of it, scowling morosely.

"...He might not be **quite** that oblivious," Wufei said cautiously.

"Well, it's all academic now. I've had enough. It's not worth trying anymore... is it?" Duo asked, suddenly uncertain. "Look, Wu-man, you're the most grounded, focussed, objective person I know. Do you think I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face just because I'm currently narked at Heero?"

There was a long pause before Wufei answered, and he wasn't looking at Duo as he spoke. "...I may not be the best person to ask about that."

"Huh?"

"I doubt I **can** be objective on this subject," Wufei admitted. "I want to tell you that you're making the right decision, that it's a good idea to give up on Heero... but I don't know how much my opinion is based on the fact that I have found it **incredibly** frustrating to watch you trying again and again to get Heero to notice you, while he just types obliviously at his laptop!" His jaw clenched as he looked away again, then he sighed, tugging at his ponytail. "I can't really advise you one way or the other," he said quietly. "However... Heero **has** noticed you. I'm pretty sure he still has no idea that you've been chasing him, but since Haan turned up the first time, he's been noticing you."

"A couple of weeks ago, I would have been delighted to hear that," Duo replied, a little sadly. "The way I'm feeling now, it might be too little too late."

* * * * *

Haan stopped for the night at a rest area, tucking Ryuukossei neatly into a gap between trees that Quatre would have hesitated to take a smaller truck into. "Nice driving," Quatre said, a little nervously, eyeing the gnarled branch that was hanging a centimetre in front of the windshield. "Very... precise." Repressing the urge to ask if Haan was sure he could get out in the morning, he tugged his duffel out from under the seat and opened his door, slowly at first until he was sure no trees were in the way.

"Door to the sleeping cabin's just behind you," Haan told him, no longer having to whisper, but still sounding rather raspy. "I'll be around in a second."

Quatre nodded and shut the door, and a second later Haan heard him open the sleeping cabin. Taking a brief chance, he patted the dashboard and leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Not too bad?"

 _=interesting,=_ Ryuukossei silently replied.

"Interesting how? Is the big metal awake?"

_=yes... but not talk to me.=_

"Why not?"

 _=only want to talk to boy. boy can't hear yet. i talked to big metal anyway,=_ Ryuukossei said, a trace of wicked humour leaking into the mental communication. _=annoyed it.=_

Haan stifled a chuckle, shaking his head. "Well... have fun," he told the truck, reaching for the door handle.

 _=not tell me to stop and be good?=_ Ryuukossei asked, faintly surprised.

"No," Haan grinned, opening the door and swinging out. "I've been having fun annoying Heero, and I'm not going to stop. Why should you?"

\----------

Quatre had been distracted from his discomfort when Haan had argued him into wearing the 'tough guy' clothes, and had managed since then to keep his mind focussed on maintaining the proper attitude to go with the outfit. Now, however, unavoidably faced with the fact that he was going to have to sleep next to the black emptiness that radiated from Haan, not even exploring the tiny sleeping area could prevent him from becoming more and more nervous.

It was a pity, really, since he could tell that under normal circumstances he could have been fascinated. Brought up in huge mansions, where bigger was better and everything took up a lot of room, he had always been delighted by the sort of space-saving design found in boats and caravans, where things folded up or tucked away in unlikely corners, and Ryuukossei's sleeping cabin was a beautiful example of the style.

"Don't fold the bed down yet," Haan advised, nudging the door open with his shoulder and climbing up the inset steps below it. "Takes up too much room. Get ready first."

Sidling past Quatre in the confined space, he flicked catches open and wordlessly showed him storage cupboards, a tiny sink hidden behind a sliding panel, and a larger panel that folded down to become a shelf, revealing a kettle, hotplate, cutlery and crockery racked in the space behind it. "Toilet's in here," he said shortly, tapping a narrow door, "but I don't use it when there's public loos nearby. The tank's a pain to pump out."

"Understood," Quatre nodded, trying to avoid contact with Haan without being obvious about it.

"Fridge," Haan went on, displaying one that was just big enough to hold a carton of milk and some eggs. "Chairs. Your bag'll fit here. Back in a minute." And he was out the door and gone.

Quatre changed quickly, pulling on a loose t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and pushed his bag into the empty cupboard Haan had indicated. The disputed boots followed it, stuffed out of sight with perhaps a little more violence than was really called for, and there was nothing more for him to do except wait for Haan to come back. He unfastened the clips that held the bed folded up to the wall and lowered it a bit, just enough for a quick look, then closed it up again. It was larger than a normal bunk bed, but still seemed awfully small for two... especially when one was him and the other was Haan.

Pulling one of the collapsible chairs out of its slot and folding its legs down to give himself a place to sit, he sighed. "It's going to be a very long night," he whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Wufei jerked awake less than an hour after he'd fallen asleep, part of him still hearing his grandmother's voice. He'd been dreaming of a warm spring day, sitting in the garden, listening to stories.

_"...you must always remember the debt owed to Lord Haan, for it may be you who he calls upon to repay it..."_

_That one wasn't a grandmother's tale,_ he thought muzzily. _That was one of the stories she told me from our clan history. It can't be **this** Haan, though, he's barely older than me... and I think that story was very old, from back when we still held lands on Earth._

_Perhaps an ancestor of his?_

_No... it's far more likely to have been about a Chinese. 'Haan' and 'Han' aren't that different._

The sheets rustled as he turned over, wriggling into a more comfortable position, then the room was silent again. For about five minutes.

_Didn't the story say that 'Lord Haan' was a foreigner?_

Swearing half-heartedly under his breath, Wufei pushed the covers back and got up. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't inherited my father's scholarly curiosity," he muttered, padding across to his desk and reaching for his laptop. "Researching dubious ancient history in the middle of the night... but if I don't at least set up the search, I won't be able to sleep."

Automatically he began to log into L5's computer system, then froze, thinking. _If I just run a search, anyone who checks the access records is going to be able to see that I was looking up ancient history... and old myths, too, because I'm not **sure** that was a historical story. I certainly don't have to answer to anyone over what I choose to access, of course, but... I can just imagine getting an email from Master O, asking how this data is going to help me against OZ._

Sighing, Wufei began to set up a covert 'search worm', programming it to get the information he wanted and send it to him under the guise of someone else's access. _This could take days, and it will be **far** more difficult to explain if I get caught... but I shouldn't get caught._

_Probably._

* * * * *

Wufei might have slept better after at least beginning to satisfy his curiosity, but Quatre didn't have any easy way to relieve **his** problems. He lay awake for most of the night, sinking into an uneasy doze from time to time, but coming fully awake every time his unwelcome bedmate moved.

 _I think it would actually be better if Haan snored,_ he thought with weary humour, somewhere near dawn. _At least then I'd have a constant reminder that he's there!_

It turned out to have one possible advantage, though. As morning broke and they moved off again, Haan backing Ryuukossei out of its tight quarters with the same skill he'd shown driving in, Quatre found no difficulty slipping into the proper 'arrogant, irritable and dangerous' attitude to suit his disguise. He didn't normally get short-tempered after a bad night's sleep and felt (briefly) shocked when he realised what was happening; but, after all, it was more like four nights of poor sleep, and unusual circumstances, and... Actually, his momentary feelings of guilt about his uncharacteristic loss of control were just making him feel more annoyed.

"You're doing fine," Haan murmured, glancing at his passenger as the truck swung around a bend in the road and the OZ checkpoint became visible in the distance. "Like I said, you can do more than you expect."

"Sleep deprivation helps method acting," Quatre said acidly, rolling his eyes. "Wonderful. We **must** remember to tell Hollywood."

Haan wheezed almost silently, shoulders shaking as he suppressed a belly laugh. "Heh. I **thought** you were a bit restless. Still tense?"

"Sort of. And no, it's still not anything you can help with." _Unless you can somehow turn off whatever it is that makes you a psychic hole in the world. I doubt it. And even if I thought that you could, I'm hardly going to ask you to try. I can see it now... 'Excuse me, Mr. Haan, could you please let me use my sixth sense on you? I realise almost nobody believes in functional empathy, but I'm not crazy, really...'_

Passage through the roadblock turned out to be almost an anticlimax. The OZ soldiers scanning the truck saw nothing more than what they were meant to, and the major in charge barely glanced at Quatre as he went over Haan's answers to the questionnaire.

 _I see what Trowa meant,_ Quatre mused, watching the officer's eyes slide over him and away for the second time. Part of his attention was occupied by imagining that he was looking at a spectacularly incompetent clerk, in order to keep the proper expression on his face, but even in his current overtired state he had no problem multitasking. _He was alert and interested, and then it just... drained out of his expression when he saw me, like watching someone lose twenty or thirty points off their IQ._

_Ew. That's a very uncomfortable thought!_

"I wish I knew how you did that," he said under his breath as Haan put Ryuukossei into gear and drove past the raised barrier.

"I know," the smuggler replied, concentrating on the road.

"But you're not going to tell."

"Right."

Biting his tongue to hold back a snappish retort, Quatre counted to ten before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "I understand your position. However... would you be willing to sell information regarding how we can protect ourselves from someone else using whatever that is on **us**?"

"Um." Haan blinked, obviously surprised. "Hadn't expected **that** question. Ah... I don't think I can tell you how to defend against it without telling you how to **do** it... but since I invented it, and I haven't passed it on to anyone else, you shouldn't need to."

"Given the number of times in history where the same thing has been invented by two or more people simultaneously, I hope you will forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring," Quatre said acidly, then winced. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm tired, and it **really** bothers me that I can't-- never mind. I apologise."

\----------

 _'Can't' what?_ Haan wondered, glancing sideways at his passenger as the normally blond teen sat back, rubbing at his eyes. _Whatever it is, it really must be eating at him if it's making him act this differently from the first couple of times I met him._ "I don't think it's really necessary," he said aloud, "but apology accepted anyway."

"Thank you," Quatre sighed, managing a faint, false smile.

There was near silence in the cab for the next few minutes as Haan thought, running over every aspect of Quatre's behaviour he'd observed.

"Is it anything to do with me?" he asked eventually, and was rewarded by seeing Quatre jump, eyes widening.

"I-- no-- that is-- it isn't--"

"It **is** something to do with me," Haan concluded, not without humour. "You're a rotten liar when you're tired; better keep that in mind."

"It **still** isn't anything you can alter," Quatre said doggedly, blushing as red as his dyed hair.

"You might be surprised. Try me."

"I'd rather not."

Haan shrugged expressively. "Your choice. If you're worried about upsetting me, I can tell you I'm fairly unshockable... though I'm sure Duo will do his best to prove me wrong."

Quatre shook his head silently and settled back into the seat again, mouth firmly closed.

 _=stubborn boy,=_ Ryuukossei observed silently. _=stupid. talking is good. haan wants to talk, i want to talk to haan, big metal wants to talk to boy... stupid boy should want to talk too.=_

Stifling a sigh, Haan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in an abbreviated pat, and drove on.

* * * * *

"...dunno. What do you think?" came faintly to Wufei's ears as he ducked under the camouflage netting and started down into the gully where the remaining Gundams were hidden.

 _That's Duo's voice,_ he thought coldly, coming silently to a halt, _but who is he talking to? Heero's back at the safehouse, and we're maintaining comms silence except for 'all OK' calls when each of us gets out of the cordon, so..._ Mind coming up with one scenario after another, most involving Duo held at gunpoint by an OZ patrol and stalling for time by talking as fast as he could, Wufei crept closer.

A few taps of metal on metal came from somewhere out of sight, then Duo's voice again, slightly muffled. "...sorry 'bout... forgot you haven't met..." Wufei stopped again and listened intently, straining to hear the reply, but there was nothing but the wind in the trees above.

"Jeez, 'Scythe, I swear you blow out hydraulic lines on purpose, just so I'll have to spend time working on you!" Duo laughed, suddenly loud and clear.

Wufei slumped against the boulder he was hidden behind, torn between laughter and relief. _He's talking to his damn **Gundam** ,_ he realised, resisting the urge to beat his head against the rock a few times. _I've heard him do it before-- I should have realised-- **damn** but he gave me a fright!_

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'd find excuses to come out here even if there wasn't anything to fix," Duo continued cheerfully, oblivious to the fact that he now had an audience. "Anyway. I wish you could give me some advice about Haan. Wu-man and Trowa seem to think he's okay, but Heero's being a jerk and Quatre's twitching like he just stuck a fork in an electrical socket. I hope **he's** okay... he should call in this evening, if nothing goes wrong."

There was a short pause, as if Duo was listening to an answer.

"Wu-FEI, yeah, I know. I **like** playing with his name."

Behind his rock, Wufei's eyebrows shot up.

" **Yes** , I'm sure he understands I mean it in a friendly sort of way! Jeez, 'Scythe, you're such a mother hen sometimes... 'Fei's a cool guy. He wouldn't take offense at something that wasn't meant to be insulting unless I really stepped on my dick."

Suddenly realising that he was, effectively, eavesdropping on Duo having a private conversation, Wufei backed up quickly and silently to the edge of the gully and started down again, kicking a stone ahead of him to warn the other pilot that he had company. This time, Duo had his gun trained on him as he came around the boulder, but put it away as he called a greeting.

"Good morning, Duo."

"'Morning, 'Fei! Shenlong actually need any work or are you just here to polish?"

"Computer diagnostics," Wufei told him, smiling involuntarily in response to the braided teen's grin. "And my name is **Wufei** ," he added, automatically following their established pattern.

"Ah, polishing the electrons. Gotcha," Duo nodded; then he flicked a sudden look over his shoulder at Deathscythe, and his smile faltered. "Uh... Wufei..."

"Yes?"

"D'you really mind it when I mess with your name, or do you just call me on it because you're going along with the game?" he blurted out uncomfortably. "I mean, if it really pisses you off, I'm sorry..."

_Duo is apologising to me because of a conversation he had with his Gundam?!_

"...I don't mean it as an insult."

"I realise that," Wufei said slowly, hoping his face showed nothing more than mild surprise. "If anyone else did it, I **would** mind... but if you stopped, you wouldn't be 'Duo'."

"All right!" Duo cheered. "I knew-- uh, I hoped that was how you felt. Thanks, Wu-man!"

"Wu-FEI," the Chinese pilot corrected him solemnly, smirking. "Don't bother to thank me; I have electrons to polish."

Duo almost choked on a laugh as he realised that Wufei had just thrown his own joke back at him, and Wufei escaped into Shenlong's cockpit before he either lost control of his expression or said something that would let Duo know that he'd been overheard.

 _I certainly can't blame him for talking to Deathscythe,_ he told himself, settling into his seat and activating the computer systems. _I'd have to be a hypocrite to disapprove. He isn't the only person who... who's projected a personality onto his Gundam... if it is a projection._

The familiar feeling of being watched intensified, and he glanced up with a twisted smile.

"Which is it, Meiran?" he asked softly. "Am I imagining you, and deluding myself into believing that you might be real; or am I **feeling** you, and pretending that you're just my imagination?"

There was no answer, but somehow it felt as though the watching eyes had blinked.

* * * * *

About halfway between the OZ roadblock and the diner where Haan intended to stop for lunch, Quatre fell asleep. He hadn't intended to; he'd settled himself into the corner at a slight angle, so he could keep watching Haan out of the corner of his eye without being obvious about it, and tried to relax enough to get the painful knots he could feel forming in his shoulder muscles to go away. The seat was comfortable... the cabin was warm... the radio was playing quiet music... the truck purred along the road, rocking gently in a surprisingly soothing motion...

_When you think about it, really, it's all so clear. Haan is a black hole because he's friends with Duo and Duo has enough life and energy for two people and it must have come from **somewhere**. Must remember to tell Heero so he can stop vibrating. Like poles repel, and Heero's a little like Haan, so of course they don't get along... Trowa seems like Heero superficially but he's not, Trowa is Trowa is Trowa trowa trowa was nice last week when he said that to me..._

Ryuukossei bounced over a speed bump as it turned into the diner's parking lot, and Quatre jolted awake. He'd turned in his sleep until his forehead was pressed against the window, so that the first thing he saw was the scenery moving past outside. Momentarily confused as he emerged from muddled fragments of dreams, all he could think of was that he was in a vehicle of some sort, it was moving, and behind him where a driver should be he could feel **nothing** \--

Lunging out of his corner to grab for the wheel and handbrake, Quatre found himself staring up into a pair of mismatched eyes, with a warm hand carefully holding him away from the brake.

"Uh..."

"I know I told the major you were my temporary relief driver," Haan said mildly, "but I didn't expect you to take it this seriously."

Quatre snatched his hand away from the steering wheel as if it was hot and sat up stiffly, miserably aware that he was blushing **again**. "I thought no-one was driving," he muttered, looking away. "I must have still been dreaming."

Much to his relief, Haan didn't repeat his earlier comment about Quatre being a rotten liar; he just raised one eyebrow and tapped the accelerator, pulling the rest of the way into the parking lot. "You want to climb in the back and have a nap after lunch, or would you rather get some caffeine into your system?" he asked carefully, shutting down the engine and turning to look at his passenger. "Personally, I'd go for the nap if I were you; caffeine might just make you jumpier."

 _I don't know if that's possible,_ Quatre thought wryly, and held his hands out in front of him. They were trembling slightly. "No caffeine," he decided. "Definitely, no caffeine. Now, if I can just stay awake long enough to eat a sandwich or two, I'll be happy."

"You'd better," Haan grinned. "Mary-girl is **proud** of her sandwiches; she might take it as an insult if you use one as a pillow instead of eating it."

\----------

Mary-girl turned out to be an immensely fat woman who whooped with delight as soon as she saw Haan. "Where've you **been** , darling?" she exclaimed, waddling out from behind the counter to throw her arms around him. "Gallivanting all over God's creation in that truck, I swear you'd take it to the colonies if you could strap enough rockets onto it, never coming to visit your old friends, what kind of life is that for a growing young man? I can see you haven't been eating enough, **as** usual," she 'tsk'ed, holding him at arms' length and looking him up and down disapprovingly. "Skinny as a rail and twice as tough, well, you just go sit down and we'll do something about that. The usual?"

"Two," Haan corrected her, kissing her cheek and jerking his thumb towards Quatre. "Make his decaf."

"Lord love me, child, I never even saw you there!" she gasped, abruptly focussing on him. "Oh dear, it's no wonder I didn't; you're just like Haan, thin as piano wire and pulled just as tight," she clucked, shaking her head as she turned around and bustled back into the kitchen. "Sit down, take the weight off your feet, I'll be out in just a moment..."

"Don't worry," Haan murmured as he led the way over to a corner table. "She doesn't expect people to hold up their end of the conversation."

"Oh, good," Quatre said dazedly. "Her nametag actually said 'Mary-girl', not just 'Mary'..."

"So does her birth certificate. Her parents were a little odd, but she says it's better than 'Moonbeam' or 'Suncrystal'."

"My little brother never did forgive Dad for that one," Mary-girl sighed reminiscently, nearly shocking Quatre into cardiac arrest as she appeared silently behind his shoulder and put two huge mugs of coffee down on the table. "God be praised, they had me **before** they moved to the commune and went completely Herbal Wiccan." Patting Quatre gently on the shoulder, almost as if she was afraid her bulk would break him, she flashed him a beautiful smile and swept off, presumably to fetch the next instalment of their meal.

"None of them have followed in their parents' footsteps," Haan continued, unperturbed. "Mary-girl is Baptist, Moonbeam is an agnostic psychiatrist who specialises in helping people rebel against their parents' expectations without going completely off the rails, and Suncrystal is an accountant. Amazingly enough, they haven't changed their names."

"How come she's paying attention to me?" Quatre whispered, tugging at the denim jacket he was still wearing. "Isn't this working on her?"

"It **was** , until I asked her to get you food," Haan whispered back, half-smiling. "That made her notice you... and Mary-girl regards everyone who's younger than her and asking for food as a lame duck desperately in need of TLC. She **can't** ignore you now, no matter what."

"There now, this'll fill you up and put a little more meat on your bones," Mary-girl carolled, carrying two large plates heaped with sandwiches over to them. "Eat up, eat up-- no, don't you even think of pulling out your wallet, Haan! The scales aren't nearly balanced yet, and until they are your money's no good here."

Quatre shot a questioning look at Haan after she left again, and got a mildly embarrassed shrug back. "I've done her a favour or two in the past," he muttered. "She attaches far more importance to them than they deserve."

"I'm glad we stopped here for lunch," Quatre sighed, picking up his first sandwich and examining it. "For once, it's **you** blushing instead of me!"

He'd been a little worried, after Mary-girl's comments about he and Haan being 'thin' and needing more meat on their bones, but there wasn't anything in the sandwiches to make him concerned for his cholesterol levels. After the first one, he shrugged out of the jacket and left it on the seat next to him; the diner was empty, after all, and it didn't seem to be air-conditioned.

He regretted it five minutes later.

"Shit, what a dump," a loud voice said as three young men pushed the door open and lounged in. "Doesn't even have beer! What the fuck are we stopping **here** for?"

"Food," the slightly older man following them snapped. "You want to get drunk this early, suit yourself; do it with your own money, and this time take the jacket off **before** you roll your bike and end up in jail. The Dogs don't need that sort of publicity."

Flushing angry red, the one who'd spoken first spun around to glare, tugging at his jacket. All four men were wearing black leather, with 'DOGS' in large red letters across the back and a line of short silver spikes down the spine. "Right, like **you've** never run off the road--"

"Sure I have. I got up afterwards and kept going, though, instead of lying in the ditch puking my guts up until the cops--"

"GENTLEMEN!" Mary-girl bellowed in a surprisingly deep voice, cutting them both off. They spun to stare at her, and she smiled sweetly, folding her hands over her ample stomach. "Now, that's much better, isn't it? What would you like to eat? We do free coffee refills for as long as you're here, by the way..."

Her attempt to settle the situation seemed to be working on the two who'd been arguing, but that left the **other** two free to look around and find trouble.

"Hey, Zac!" one of them called, grinning as he sauntered over to Haan and Quatre's table. "We got ourselves a couple of pretty boys over here!"

Now Mary-girl started to look anxious. "Ohhh, no. You do **not** want to be doing that, young man."

"Why?" he laughed. "They **your** pretty boys, fatso?"

Instinctively staying in character, Quatre glared at the biker, hiding his uncertainty behind a cold facade. _**Now** what?! How should I react to this? If I seem weak, he'll just keep pushing, but if I act too aggressive I think it'll bring the other three into this. I know all the proper responses for a boardroom confrontation, but not a case like this!_

"Fuck off," Haan said flatly, looking up from his sandwich.

Seeing Haan's scars and mismatched eyes for the first time, the biker recoiled slightly; then one of his companions make a slight noise that might have been a snicker, and his expression hardened. "My mistake," he sneered. "We got **one** pretty boy, and a jerk with girly hair who thinks he's a hard man. What makes **you** so tough, moron?"

Ignoring him, Haan glanced over at the other biker. "Ridgeback chapter, right?" At the man's nod, he smiled thinly. "Dingo Dan still in charge, or has Mal kicked his way to the top of the heap?"

"Dan," the man answered slowly, eyes narrowing. "Mal had an argument with a semi about six months back. The semi won."

"Really? I always thought he'd get shot. Give Dan a message for me, will you?"

"Depends. What's the message?"

Haan looked back at the biker in front of him, smile widening. "Tell him Lizard says his standards are slipping."

" **Lizard**?! You--"

"Fuck you, asshole!" the younger biker burst out, hand dipping inside his jacket for a weapon as he leapt at Haan. "You screw with the Dogs and the Dogs screw with-- _hlk!_ "

His voice cut off in a strangled gurgle as Haan lunged up out of his chair and grabbed him by the throat, taking the switchblade away from him almost as an afterthought. Quatre scrambled away from the table as the biker crashed down between the plates, knocking the coffee mugs over.

"Hi," Haan said almost conversationally, leaning over the biker as he continued to choke him, one-handed, ignoring his desperate attempts to pry Haan's hand off his throat. "Some of your friends named me Lizard. They really should have told you about me..."

The skin around Haan's left eye-- the green one-- twitched.

Quatre almost vomited as the black emptiness hiding Haan's emotions seemed to crumble, letting him 'feel' the smuggler for the very first time. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and prey squirming under his hand, and something cold and reptilian fighting its way up from the depths of his mind that wanted to kill every warm-blooded thing in the room...


	7. Chapter 7

"Haan?! Haan! Let him go, Haan, you don't want to kill him, not really!"

The worried voice was hardly more than a buzz in Haan's ears, drowned out by his own heartbeat. He bared his teeth in a grin that had absolutely nothing to do with humour, and part of him laughed inside as the rapidly darkening face in the centre of his vision twisted in fear. A different part was screaming for him to stop, to let go, but his eye and arm were throbbing and that always meant it had gone too far... no, it was simpler to just finish it. Finish it and kill the others and deal with the consequences later.

_Mary-girl's here! She'll die too, I **can't** \--_

Different voices, male this time. "Let go of me, fuck you, he's killing Cy!"

"That's **Lizard** , you idiot, there's no way in hell we can take him!"

His sleeve seemed a little tighter.

_\--maybe she'll run -- please let her run -- run **now** , she won't get far enough away if she doesn't run **now** \--_

A new voice, lighter, on the verge of panic. "What's the matter with him? He-- I can't--"

He knew that voice. _Duo's friend. Quatre. He-- I can't kill him, not Duo's friend-- and if I don't he'll see, he'll tell Duo and-- NO!_

\----------

Pressed up against the wall behind his chair, Quatre stared at Haan in horror. _I thought it was bad when I couldn't feel him at all, but this-- is he like this all the time?!_

He could feel **two** sets of emotions coming from Haan, two completely different sets of emotions that he would have sworn couldn't possibly come from the same person. One was a confused swirl of determination and fear and pain, mixed with a dragging weariness and depression that made him wince, holding on to control with a desperate effort; the other was nothing but bloodlust and hunger, cold and callous, and if he could have pushed his way through the wall to get further away from that feeling he would have done it.

_What's going on?! Is that-- has he got multiple personalities?! One doesn't even feel human--!_

Haan showed no sign of hearing Mary-girl's voice as he leaned a little closer, eyes flat and dead-looking, and bared his teeth at the biker he had pinned to the table. A thread of dark amusement joined the cold, violent set of emotions, and Quatre found himself remembering the day he'd gone to a zoo with Trowa and seen a saltwater crocodile from Australia's north coast. It had been nearly twenty feet long, lying on the bank of the pond in its enclosure, watching the people who came to gape at it with cold yellow eyes... he'd heard someone laugh, and say 'Look, it's wondering what we'd taste like!'

Beside him, Trowa had shaken his head slightly, green eyes calm as he returned its gaze. 'He doesn't have to wonder what humans taste like,' he'd murmured softly. 'He already knows.'

_I was sure he was right... and I was so glad, then, that I can't feel animals' emotions! If I could, would that crocodile have felt like this?_

Haan's canine teeth were unusually long and sharp. He'd never noticed that before. It seemed appropriate.

"Let go of me, fuck you, he's killing Cy!"

"That's **Lizard** , you idiot, there's no way in hell we can take him!"

The skin around Haan's left eye was twitching, too, and seemed to be flushing darker, greenish like an old bruise...

_...and does **everyone** here know more about this than me?! Mary-girl wasn't nervous until the bikers noticed Haan -- she knows him, she must have known this could happen -- and once the bikers heard him say he was 'Lizard', at least two of them recognised him--_

_What the hell is going on?!_

"What's the matter with him?" Quatre burst out, not sure whether he was more afraid of what was happening, or angry that he'd had no warning. Being afraid was making him angrier, in fact. _I really do get short-tempered when I'm this tired, don't I? Better watch that... later._ "He-- I can't--" _\--I can't tell what he's going to do, not with what seems like two personalities fighting for control, and how in Allah's name am I supposed to plan for things like this if nobody gives me any facts in advance?!_

_I wish I had my gun. I **really** wish I had my gun. I'd have to decide who I should shoot, which right now would not be an easy task, but at least I'd have the option of doing **something**!_

There was a sudden flash of panic through the emotions he was feeling, panic that even seemed to touch the cold killer side--

\--and Haan straightened up and threw his arm back, letting go at the last second and sending the biker staggering into the arms of his mates.

"Cy! Cy, man, are you okay? Say something!"

The half-choked man coughed and wheezed for a moment, colour rapidly shading down from an unhealthy purple to a more normal red flush. "...Bastard..." he gasped out eventually, twisting to glare at Haan's unmoving form. "Fucking **bastard**... _*wheeze*_ ...'ll show him what it means to mess with the Dogs... _*cough*_ Why the hell didn't you assholes do something?!"

"How many times do I have to say it?!" the older biker almost screamed. "He's **Lizard**!"

"Like I _*kah*cough*_ ...like I believe in that fairy-tale shit!"

"Maybe you'll believe in this," Haan rasped, voice even harsher than normal as he turned smoothly, bringing his left hand up, showing the switchblade knife he'd taken from the biker. He was holding it strangely, fingers laced over the blade so that his middle finger was on top, index and ring fingers underneath, thumb and little finger held clear.

_He's still so close to killing them,_ Quatre realised, watching with narrowed eyes as the smuggler cocked his head and smiled thinly, showing no external signs of the emotional struggle Quatre could feel still going on. The cold killer was being slowly forced back 'down', but hadn't given up; Haan's right hand was hanging by his side, half-curled into a claw and twitching slightly, and _it would be so easy, so easy to just reach out and snap **there** and slash **there** and--_

_No!_

Quatre shuddered, mentally flinching away from the murderous thought, trying to block it out. _That-- that was more than just emotions!_ he realised, shaken. _And that was closer than I **ever** want to get to someone else's mind again!_

"Oh, yeah, I _*kaff*_ believe in that knife," Cy was saying, shrugging off his friends' hands and taking up a ready stance, grinning nastily. "I believe in cold steel. Why don't you _*kaff*_ give it back, and we try that little dance again? You won't get me with that trick twice--"

Haan slowly clenched his fist, and the knife snapped.

" **I** believe," he said into the following silence, "that I can snap you like that. Easier than that. And I'll do it, too, if you don't leave **now**." The two pieces clattered to the floor as he opened his hand; a few drops of blood followed them, then stopped. "Don't forget to tell Dan I said 'hi'." The smile widened, starting to bare teeth again. "Ask him if his leg still aches when it's going to rain."

"We're going," the oldest biker assured him, grabbing Cy by the back of his collar and hauling him towards the door before he could snap out of his stunned daze and object. The other two followed them out, walking sideways and shooting uncertain glances back at Haan, eyes flicking from the broken knife to his face to his hand and back to the knife. The door banged shut behind them, motorcycle engines revved to life outside, then gravel pattered as at least one of them spun their wheels in their hurry to get away.

"Haan?" Mary-girl said quietly. "You just sit down, okay? No harm done, I'll clean up the mess and get you some more sandwiches, how's that?"

He seemed to crumple, left hand coming up to cover the bruised-looking area around his left eye, right arm going limp. Quatre felt the bloodlust subside, now that its main targets were out of reach, and then **he** relaxed a little as Haan's emotions vanished from his senses again, swallowed up by the black void as it reappeared.

_I never thought I'd welcome **that**!_

"...I'm not hungry," Haan replied, voice barely above a whisper, and slumped back into his chair, ignoring the mess of spilt coffee and sandwiches as he rested his head on the table. "Just... leave me alone for a minute, okay? Just a minute..."

"Sure," she said gently, waving Quatre away from the table as she moved to the front door, locking it and turning the old-fashioned hanging sign around to 'CLOSED'. "Nobody's going to bother you, hon. Just let me know when you're feeling a bit better, all right? We'll be in the kitchen."

She started to pull down the blinds, covering the windows and plunging the interior of the café into twilight. "Go on ahead, child, I'll be there in a second," she told Quatre, voice calm but expression serious. One hand pointed to Haan's silent form, came up to cover her mouth, then flicked across to point urgently at the door behind the counter.

_I don't need lessons in sign language to understand her message,_ Quatre thought wryly, scooping up the pieces of the knife as he passed, fingers careful to avoid sharp edges and broken points. _'Not a word, and go NOW.' She knows more than me about what's going on, so I'll do as she says, but she'd better be planning on telling me what all that was about!_

* * * * *

_This situation is driving Duo crazy,_ Wufei thought, absently stirring the stew he was fixing for lunch. _He's hardly left his room at all today, except to work on his Gundam this morning... No, it's Heero and his paranoia that are driving Duo crazy! Well, since Heero seems determined to go next, that'll get him out of here and give Duo a break..._

_Of course, that would be the ideal situation, for both Duo and myself. Duo would be able to relax a bit without Heero's rude comments and blatant distrust to stress him... and I'd have the chance to spend some time alone with him. Talk to him, see how he feels about me, maybe--_

"Chang, is lunch ready?" Heero's voice startled him, and he dropped the ladle against the side of the pot.

"Yes, if you'd set the table, I'll go get Duo," he replied, stepping away from the stove.

"I'm here," the braided pilot said quietly, stepping into the kitchen, taking three bowls from the cupboard and placing them on the table. Adding glasses, silverware, salt and pepper, he sat down and stared at the bowl in front of him, avoiding any eye contact with either of the other two.

Wufei sighed under his breath, filling the bowls as Heero took a seat, then joined his teammates.

The room was silent except for the slight clinking of spoons against bowls.

_This is not right,_ the Chinese teen thought almost angrily. _Duo should be making comments on my cooking... wondering how Quatre is doing... joking about **something**! I thought the situation was driving **him** crazy, but if this keeps up I may end up killing Yui myself!_

"Chang," Heero said shortly, breaking the silence, "You'll go on the next trip. Then Maxwell will go. I'll stay until the last trip--"

"OH HELL NO!" Duo exclaimed, violently pushing away from the table and jumping to his feet. 

"It's the safest and most logical way. If Haan tries anything--"

"No fucking way, Yui!" Duo shouted at the Japanese teen. "There is no fucking way I'm staying cooped up in this place with your paranoia and distrust for any longer than I have to!"

"Duo, calm down..." Wufei cut in, standing and reaching for the other pilot's arm. "Let's talk this out--"

"I am sick to death of talking to a stone wall!" Duo ranted on at Heero, oblivious to his Chinese friend's attempt to calm him down. "I am sick of banging my head against said wall, trying to make you understand. I'm sick of the constant bad temper and arguments! I'm sick of your delusional fixation that Haan is out to get us for some evil plot of his own! I'm sick of you treating me like I'm an idiot, whose judgement isn't to be trusted! I am not stupid or gullible or foolish or naive -- if I were, the L2 streets would have killed me long ago--"

Wufei watched, amazed, as Duo's eyes glazed over slightly and his rant cut off. Then the braided teen shook his head and ran out, the back door slamming behind him.

"Well, I'd say that didn't go exactly as you planned, did it?" Wufei said, turning his attention to the other pilot remaining in the room and managing to not laugh out loud. Heero was sitting ramrod straight, a thoroughly pole-axed expression on his face.

"Chang..." he said finally, "what just happened?"

Wufei snickered. "To use one of Duo's favourite phrases, 'you just screwed the pooch'."

" **What?!** "

"Stepped on your dick," Wufei continued blithely. "Buggered yourself. That little order of yours -- speaking of which, by the way, what the hell gives you the right to give **us** orders? -- was the straw that broke the camel's back. Personally, I think Duo's been incredibly patient about this."

"Patient, hell!" Heero almost shouted. "He won't listen to a word I say about Haan--"

"He would if you were making any sense! And you won't listen to him either!"

"I--"

"While we're on the topic of not making any sense, what caused this sudden switch in your plans?" Wufei went on, not giving Heero a chance to object. "It was 'me first me first' until we shouted you down, then it was 'me next me next' until we shouted you down **again**... why suddenly switch to 'me last me last'? Just this morning, you were still insisting that the 'safest and most logical way' to proceed would be to let you go ahead of us, presumably so you could discover whatever nefarious deeds Haan is planning and stop him. Justice triumphs and a grateful Duo leaps into your arms, was that the idea?!"

Wufei would have laughed at the shocked expression on Heero's face if he hadn't been getting angry, himself. It had been funny to start with, and in a way it still was, but now that he'd started yelling at the L1 pilot it was incredibly hard to stop.

"I-- uh-- I thought about it some more, and I realised that it made more sense for me to leave last," Heero managed finally, almost stuttering. "The most dangerous time will be--"

"You mean you thought about it some more, and realised that this way you would get to be alone with Duo for several days."

"What?! I-- no! I just--"

"Why else order **me** to leave next?!" Wufei snarled, leaning forward over the table. "It's **Duo** you want to protect, isn't it? Why not send **him** to safety first? Hah? I'll tell you why not! It's because you're not really thinking about safety or tactics right now, you're still thinking with your damn hormones!"

He turned to follow Duo, but stopped at the door.

"You wanted to go next. That's fine by me; you're damn well going on the next trip if I have to shoot you and throw your bleeding corpse into the trailer with Wing. That will get you **away** from Duo, long enough for him to calm down and, if you have any operational brain cells left, long enough for **you** to start thinking again. Oh, and--" he paused in the doorway for a second, glaring back over his shoulder-- "If you happen to be considering killing Haan, I'd advise you to reconsider. Think about it. He's our only reliable way out of the OZ cordon. If he's gone, how is Duo going to get out of here?"

The door slammed loudly behind the Chinese pilot as he stormed off.

Heero leaned back in his chair and sighed, staring into his bowl of congealing stew.

\----------

_Easy... easy... just breathe..._

"I know," Duo panted, breath hitching as he fought off tears of frustration. "There's just no getting through to him! He is the most stubborn, anal, infuriating, moronic, paranoid, cynical asshole in the universe! How could I have been so stupid as to let him get to me like that? How could I have even **considered** a relationship with him?!"

_You're outgoing, friendly, always think the best of people, never say die, silver linings, he's damn good looking--_

"Okay, okay. Point made. I **am** an idiot," Duo replied, sniffing as he got himself under control.

_Not an idiot. I prefer the term optimist._

The braided teen sank back in his seat in Deathscythe's cockpit and sighed. "Is there really a difference?" he asked.

_Little one, you know that answer. Just because you have faith and hope, and prefer to look on the bright side, does not make you an idiot._

"No, but if I **am** wrong about Haan, just because I'm going on faith and instinct, I'll be worse than an idiot. And I'll prove Heero right."

_Why are you doubting yourself now? Trusting your instincts is what kept you alive for years... at least until I came along. I take credit for everything since then, of course._

Duo snorted with laughter. "Smug, much?" Then he sobered. "But what if my instinct is wrong this time? What if Haan **is** working on some convoluted plot? Though it would have to be something really wild to actually work, maybe bugging us and the Gundams instead of trying to capture us directly or something... I mean, what are the odds?"

There was a long pause before Deathscythe answered Duo's question.

_I shouldn't do this, really, but I can tell you one thing. You are **not** wrong. Don't ask me why or how, I'm not allowed... I can't tell you. But you're not wrong, Little Death._

"'Scythe?" Duo asked, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

_No more questions. And do not pout at me. It only works when you really mean it. Now, Wufei is outside. You have a few choices. You can stay holed up in here, with me, and ignore him. You can hope he gets into Shenlong and comms us, or you can open the hatch and let him in. Which will it be?_

Duo popped the hatch and sat on it, lowering the lift wire.

"Hey, 'Fei... care to join me?"

* * * * *

"He should be fine in a little while," Mary-girl said, closing the kitchen door softly behind her. "He... he just gets these spells, sometimes..." Her voice faltered and trailed off as she saw Quatre sitting on one of the stools around the kitchen table, playing idly with the pieces of the knife as he watched her.

"There's no flaw in this blade, and it's good steel," he said flatly, holding the handle up and rubbing a smear of blood away with his thumb. "If **I** wanted to break it, I'd have to clamp it to something and hit it with a sledgehammer. Not to mention that he was throwing that biker around one-handed, which isn't the simplest thing in the world, plus the sudden personality switch he seemed to pull. That isn't a 'spell'. I'm tempted to call it homicidal mania and hysterical strength."

"He isn't homicidal!" she objected faintly, one hand coming up to her throat as she looked away, refusing to meet Quatre's eyes. "He's... he's a good boy, I'd swear that on a Bible..."

"Do 'good boys' **normally** try to strangle people in your café?"

She shot him a sharp look, bridling. "Now you watch your tone, young man! I'll admit it's not exactly normal behaviour, I'd be a fool not to. Haan's just... well, he's had a hard life, I think, and he's done enough good that he deserves a lot of leeway."

"Would you mind telling me a bit more about... that?" Quatre asked, gentling his tone and gesturing vaguely towards the door. "I'm sharing a truck with him at the moment, and some friends of mine are going to be travelling with him later, so I'd really like to know if that's likely to happen again!"

"Not unless you're planning to attack him," she sighed, settling onto one of the other stools and folding her hands on the table. "And even then it might not happen. I've never seen him do... **that**... before, just heard about it. Apparently, he can control it unless he's badly wounded, or under a lot of stress and surprised."

"Those bikers seemed pretty scared of him," he prodded, wincing inwardly. _Under stress? Wonderful. Is smuggling us away from OZ's trap stressing him that much? And **why**?!_

"Oh, that doesn't surprise me." Unexpectedly, she chuckled, smiling wickedly. "He's got quite a reputation in some circles. You haven't heard about 'Lizard'?" she asked, pointedly eyeing his 'gang member' clothes.

"No." _And I'm not going to explain why I haven't heard something that's apparently common knowledge among the rougher levels of society, thank you._

"Well." In what seemed to be an almost automatic motion, she reached out to the neatly arranged ingredients lined up on the table and began to assemble a sandwich. "A few years back, before I bought this café and started running it as a truck stop, I had a little sandwich shop in Brentonville. My parents were having some hard times. Moonbeam couldn't help out, she hadn't finished her Masters degree yet and had money troubles of her own, and Suncrystal wasn't speaking to them -- still isn't, come to think of it, which is a pity -- so the money I could spare to send them was about all the money they had to live on. Even Wiccan communes have expenses, you see," she added dryly, "especially when they were planned and started by people who intended to live on what they grew but had absolutely no idea of how to go about it."

"Oops."

"Definitely 'oops'," she chuckled, then sobered. "My shop was doing all right; not great, but all right. I had some regular customers, and enough drop-in traffic so that I could pay the rent, support myself, and help my parents. I wasn't saving any money, which worried me a bit, but I was getting by... until the local mafia imitators decided I was doing well enough to be added to their protection racket. They had a frighteningly good idea of what sort of turnover I was getting, cash flow and so on, and had calculated quite nicely how much money I could, supposedly, spare from my own needs. Of course, they weren't taking into account the money I was sending away."

Stretching one arm behind her without looking, Mary-girl took a plate from a stack on the bench, slid the sandwich onto it, and passed it to Quatre. "There, get yourself outside of that; you didn't have nearly enough to eat before things got messy. Mugs are on that shelf and the coffee makers are on the bench behind you; the one on the left is decaffeinated." Beginning on a new sandwich, she waited until he was seated again before continuing.

"I had a choice; I could pay the gang and stop supporting my parents, pay the gang and stop **eating** , or not pay the gang and have something unpleasant happen to either me or the shop. A couple of the local police were involved, and doing a good job of making sure that complaints never got anywhere, but all the local shopkeepers knew what was up; I'd thought I was small enough to be left alone. Well..." She chuckled wryly. "I don't look like I gave up eating, do I? And I wouldn't abandon my parents.

"Things got a bit ugly. They started small, with a couple of smashed windows and some threatening phone calls. People were advising me to give in before things got worse, or sell out and leave. Then, one day, Haan walked in and ordered a sandwich."

Her hands slowed, settling the last few slices of meat and tomato onto her sandwich, and she blinked. "He looked exactly the way he does now," she murmured, gazing into nothing as she remembered. "Same hair, same eyes, same scars, same way of dressing right down to the loose high collars and wrappings over his hands... he hasn't changed a bit."

"Same voice?" Quatre asked, remembering what Trowa had said about the scar across Haan's throat looking relatively fresh.

"Oh, my, yes, like he'd been drinking neat whisky and eating broken glass for years," she chuckled, shaking herself out of the memory and plonking the top slice of bread on the sandwich with a decisive motion. "It's a bit of a shock when you first hear it, isn't it? Sounds like it should be coming from someone about a foot taller and three times his weight, with a broken nose, scarred knuckles, and a name like 'Tony the Knife'."

Quatre nearly spat out his coffee, sputtering with laughter as he wiped at his chin. "I was thinking he sounded like a jazz singer after a few too many late nights in smoky clubs, but I can see your point!"

"Well, perhaps I was influenced by the circumstances I first met him in," she laughed, passing him a paper napkin. "After all, I was expecting that sooner or later a gang tough or two would walk in and up the pressure, and here was this young man who looked like **some** sort of tough; of course I thought 'gang', and that was the image I came up with. Still, he ordered politely and didn't immediately start breaking my tables, so I got him his lunch and just kept an eye on him."

"And that was when the **real** gang toughs walked in and started breaking tables?" Quatre guessed.

"You're so sharp you're going to cut yourself one of these days," Mary-girl told him. "Except that they weren't breaking tables so much as overturning them and scaring my customers, while yelling a remarkable number of suggestions concerning what they'd do to me, personally, if I didn't come up with their money. They were shouting, some of my customers were screaming, I'd lost my temper and was shouting back... and Haan told them to shut up, because he was enjoying his lunch and all the noise was annoying him."

"I'm sure they took **that** well."

"They turned his table over next," she said dryly. "It didn't have quite the effect they wanted; he scooped up his plate and mug and slid out of the way just as they did it, so all they achieved was a bit of noise. He carried his food over to the counter, dodged three attempts to trip or hit him on the way without losing a crumb, handed it to me to look after, and proceeded to wipe the floor with the pair of them. Literally -- he knocked one of them face-down in a puddle of spilt milk, grabbed the back of his collar and waistband, and smeared him around in it a few times."

Quatre choked again, on the sandwich this time. "You're joking... no, you're not, are you?"

"It's the plain truth." Her expression was solemn enough, but there was an amused sparkle in her eyes for a moment. "After he kicked them out and the place had been straightened up a little, he asked what was going on, and my regulars were only too glad to fill him in. He looked surprised for a moment, then a little angry, I think, but he didn't do or say anything... then. A couple of days later, though..."

She pushed away from the table, moving to get herself a mug of coffee. "A couple of days later," she continued, back to Quatre as she stirred, "the story went around that somebody who matched Haan's description had walked into the gang leader's house as if he owned the place and told him the racket was going to stop, 'or else'. The 'or else' turned out to be that **he** got shot, and his body was disposed of... wherever and however the gang did things like that. They were bragging about it. And less than a week after **that**..." She took a deep breath. "...Half a dozen gang members and one of the police officers in their pay were dead, most of the others were in jail or had left town in a hurry, and Haan was back in my shop eating lunch and answering no questions."


	8. Chapter 8

Quatre looked blankly at Mary-girl's back for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop; then he realised that she had stopped talking. "So... they left Haan for dead, and he came back and killed **them** , instead?" he asked.

"Yes. Oh, not that he'd ever admit it, and he was never mentioned in the version that made the papers, but that's the story that was going around," she said uncomfortably, still facing the coffeemaker. "Well, one of the stories. Some of the others were quite a bit wilder."

He raised an eyebrow. "That one sounds quite wild enough. Cleaning out a gang after being shot... how badly was he hurt?"

Silence.

"Mary-girl?" Frowning, Quatre repeated his question. "How badly was he hurt when he turned up again?"

She sighed, turning with her mug in her hands. "Not a scratch."

There was another long pause as they looked at each other, and then Quatre sighed in his turn, lifting one hand to rub wearily at his eyes. "Look. I'm tired. I don't have the time **or** the energy to sit here asking questions until I've got the whole story in dribs and drabs. Why don't we just pretend I've asked all the questions, and you tell me whatever it is you're leading up to telling me?"

"I'm not sure whether I should," she said quietly. "I don't know you, and Haan is my friend."

She was asking for some sort of reassurance, he realised; and if she didn't get it, his chances of getting any more information out of her were going to drop to approximately zero. _And even if I wanted to lie, I don't think I **could** lie convincingly right now--_

"I can't truthfully claim to be a friend of his," he told her bluntly. "Quite frankly, he makes me very, very nervous. One of my best friends **is** a friend of Haan's, though, and he's the reason Haan agreed to transport me. Transport us, I should say, since there's three more of us coming after me. If there's anything that might conceivably have an impact on those friends of mine, I want to know about it."

Mary-girl stared down at her coffee for a moment, then let out a long breath and sat down. "I can certainly understand the wish to protect your friends," she said quietly. "I'll tell you what I know, but I don't know what you're going to make of it..."

* * * * *

_See? Chang agrees with me. A positive outlook does not make you an idiot. **Now** will you listen?_

_Hush up before I slip and answer you out loud, 'Scythe!_ Duo thought back sternly. He and Wufei were talking about the current situation -- talking seriously, which was a bit unusual for Duo -- and the last thing he wanted was to mess up and start the Chinese pilot wondering about his sanity.

"All right, maybe I'm not an idiot, but I still think I was overdosing on optimism when I let myself get that hung up on Heero," he sighed, flopping backwards to lie on Deathscythe's open hatch, squinting up into the sun.

"You might have been pushing things a little," Wufei admitted, "but I think if anyone could have managed a stable relationship with Yui, it would have been you."

"Whaddaya think it was?" Duo mused. "Infatuation? A crush? Masochism?"

"You already admitted he was a challenge, Duo, and you can't resist a challenge."

_Listen to the boy. He makes sense._

_'Scythe!_ "Point. Well, I guess I failed that challenge..."

"I wouldn't call it a complete failure," Wufei said calmly, leaning back against the edge of the hatch opening and quietly admiring Duo's boneless sprawl. "He'd rather take missions partnered with you than with any of the rest of us. He has even, occasionally, under extreme stress, referred to you as his friend."

"True!" Duo brightened slightly. "I think... ah, shit. You know, I think I started out with that as my goal? I just wanted to get inside that Gundanium shell of his and make him admit that maybe, just maybe, he needed friends -- and one of them could be me. I **did** that, and then I think part of me went 'well, hell, let's go for the whole nine yards! He's hot!' Stupid hormones..."

"We're teenagers. You know what they say about teenagers," came the dry comment.

"What, that we think with our dicks?"

Wufei cleared his throat pointedly. "I wasn't going to put it quite that bluntly, but yes."

_I must say, I'm glad **I** don't have glands. They seem to cause more trouble than they're worth._

After a mental snort directed at his Gundam, Duo stretched. "Well, this is one teenager who's decided to stop listening to any recommendations coming from below his waist. I figure I should keep listening to my stomach; it tends to have sensible ideas, unlike Mister Happy down there. Oh, and I might take suggestions from my feet, but I'll vet them carefully before acting on them."

There was a choked sputtering noise coming from behind him, and he twisted around to raise an eyebrow at Wufei. "Oi, I'm making a life-changing decision here, and you laugh at me? Some pal you are!"

"I'm just pleased to see you back to your normal **ab** normal sense of humour," Wufei replied, not quite able to manage a steady voice but working at it. "So. If we take a poll from the bits of your anatomy you're not ignoring at the moment, what do they think of getting something to replace the lunch you didn't eat much of?"

There was a sudden loud gurgle as Duo opened his mouth, and Wufei collapsed in laughter.

_Glands **and** internal organs... terribly inconvenient, really. Pure thought is **so** much neater._

"My stomach just seconded that motion," the braided pilot muttered, poking cautiously at his navel. "The taste buds vote yes, the feet are abstaining, and Mister Happy wants to propose a raid on a gay bar, but has been vetoed by the brain. I guess we're doing lunch."

* * * * *

_I've never seen Duo that upset,_ Heero thought dazedly, staring at the stone-cold remains of his stew. _I've certainly never seen Duo that upset at **me**..._

That hurt. Heero was well aware that he'd annoyed Duo in the past, even sometimes pissed him off -- sometimes for reasons he still didn't understand -- but he'd rarely upset him. _And he was usually upset **about** me, not **at** me. This is a lot worse than having him yell because he thinks I don't look after myself._

_Not to mention Wufei saying I'm being irrational because of **hormones** , of all things! Duo is my friend, damn it, not my lover or prospective lover or-- or whatever. He'd probably laugh himself sick at the idea if Wufei tried to tell him I'm jealous. It's just... he's my friend, and I don't trust Haan no matter what Howard says. Not that Howard would ever knowingly do anything to endanger Duo, but that's my whole point, maybe Howard doesn't know anything bad about Haan, but he doesn't know much about him at all! **Nobody** knows much about him, but the others are accepting him because he helped Duo once -- I still think that was way too convenient, him turning up right when Duo needed a hand -- and because Howard says he's okay, and nobody but me cares that Howard hasn't given us any **proof**!_

Back to feeling angry again, a far more comfortable feeling than dazed and upset, Heero pushed back from the table and stood up, heading for his laptop and yet another database search. _Then there's that whole 'I give discounts for people who annoy OZ' thing. Everyone else sees it as one more reason to trust Haan, but it could just as well be a way to draw in and identify people OZ would like to watch! Duo's my friend and I don't want him hurt, and he's the one who trusts Haan the most so he's the one most in danger from him!_

_That's all it is,_ Heero told himself firmly. _Duo's **my** friend._

* * * * *

"Now just you bear in mind that I don't necessarily **believe** any of these stories," Mary-girl began carefully, turning her coffee mug around in front of her and making patterns out of the wet rings it left on the table. "Like I said, some of these are pretty far-fetched, and nobody would have been passing them around if they didn't think it would take something right 'out there' to explain what people were saying Haan had done."

_You may not be saying you believe them, but you're not coming right out and saying you **don't** believe them, either,_ Quatre realised, waiting silently for her to go on. His empathy couldn't get much more than the normal 'background noise' feeling from her that was all he got from most people before he knew them well enough to tune in to their emotions, but there was a faint tinge of uneasiness coming along with it. Uneasiness, and... fear?

_Uneasiness because she doesn't like the stories she's heard about Haan, and fear because she's afraid they're true?_ he wondered, sipping at his own coffee to hide his expression. _That would fit the way she's acting, and her reluctance to tell me about them, since I get the impression that normally she'd like nothing more than to gossip happily about anyone and everyone she knew. I don't get any impression that she's afraid of Haan himself. Which I suppose is a good sign..._

"As well as the people who ended up dead or in jail, there was one gang member who ended up in an asylum," Mary-girl went on, apparently concentrating on making more and more intricate designs. "He was the only one who would admit that there'd been any sort of incident with Haan, and he actually led the task force that came in to investigate the whole mess to where the gang had been disposing of the bodies of anyone who pushed them too far, which certainly indicates that he knew a lot about what had been going on. In the end, though, the psychologists they brought in to examine him said he had a-- what was it? Something about a 'fixed psychosis'. They said he was sane on most subjects, but completely out of touch with reality in that one little area. The prosecutors decided they couldn't use his testimony in court, because if anything started him talking about his fixation he'd sound crazy, and the jury might decide they couldn't trust **anything** he said, so they just had him put away.

"What he had his fixation about, of course," she said quietly, "was Haan."

"I would have been surprised if you'd said it was anything else, considering what we're talking about," Quatre pointed out.

"That's true enough," she admitted, managing a chuckle. "You'd be looking at me funny now if I'd said he had nutty theories about the Yui assassination, now wouldn't you? No, it was Haan. Specifically, he insisted point-blank that Haan didn't just come back from being shot. He swore up and down that when they shot Haan, they **killed** him. He said that he, personally, checked to make sure that Haan was dead before they buried him... and he was sure he hadn't made a mistake, because he wasn't exactly new to murder. He actually said he wished he **could** believe he'd made a mistake, because it would have made things a heck of a lot simpler."

Quatre's eyes widened. "You're saying Haan **came back from the dead**?!" Then he blinked, recoiling, as a spike of pure fear flared up out of the background emotions he was feeling.

"No!" Mary-girl said sharply, hands clenching on her mug. "I'm saying that man **believed** that Haan came back from the dead, which is quite another thing. I've no idea how he did it, and it's none of my business anyway."

_And you really, really don't want to know, just in case?_

"It's pure foolishness," she went on firmly. "The only reason I'm telling you about it at all is because... well, that sort of thing is a large part of Haan's reputation on the streets."

"He comes back from the dead -- appears to come back from the dead, whatever -- on a regular basis?!" Quatre burst out incredulously.

"Yes!" She sighed, seeming to deflate. "That, and... other things. After everything quieted down in Brentonville, Haan dropped out of sight for a few months. While he was gone, people started talking--"

His voice was dry. "As they do."

"As they do, yes, but in this case the rumours being passed around were a little bit out of the ordinary," she replied, just as dryly. The exchange seemed to steady her, and she took a sip of coffee and set the mug down, pushing it away. "An awful lot of 'interesting' people come through a truck stop, and my café back in Brentonville was half-way to being a truck stop, so I used to hear a lot of things from a lot of people. I still do, and according to what I hear, Haan's famous among two different groups of people; smugglers, and the nastier gangs. The smugglers talk about him because he's the best there is, but the gangs talk about him because half of them admire him, and the other half are terrified."

"I can understand the terrified ones," Quatre muttered, rubbing one hand across his eyes. "I'm not so sure about the rest..."

"There are people out there who don't react normally to the idea that someone could kill a roomful of people without breaking a sweat, and might do just that if he loses his temper. Proof positive that it takes all sorts to make a world, though if you ask me the good Lord could have been a little less inventive and things would still have been plenty varied enough," Mary-girl said acidly. "You and I might not agree with their point of view, but they kept my shop out of the red for the next few months. Everyone else was afraid to visit until they were sure the gang trouble was really all over, but once Haan's admirers heard that 'the Lizard' had been involved I had all the trade I could handle. They'd keep coming in, hoping to see him, and they'd swap rumours while they waited."

"How reliable would you say those rumours were?" Quatre asked, thinking despairingly, _Groupies. Haan has **groupies**? What's next, an online fan club?!_

"I don't know how you define reliable, sweetheart, but the stories about what he did were pretty consistent. It was the theories on **how** he did it that were all over the place. If the rumours can be believed, Haan has a habit of getting messed up in bad situations. The tale-tellers all agreed that if nobody was getting hurt, Haan couldn't care less what people did, but if you started something that got messy and innocent people were getting caught up in it, he would not like you. He would tell you to stop. And if you didn't do as he said, that was when things would get messier.

"Some of the rumours said he was some sort of experiment, genetically engineered to be stronger and tougher than anyone normal," she went on. "Some of them said he was actually a set of identical clones, and if one got killed the next one would turn up to finish the job; a variation on that one says that 'he' has been around for hundreds of years, because somebody's been making Haan clones ever since it became possible. I even heard one young man insisting that Haan had to be an android of some sort, because his brother's friend had talked to a man who'd seen him rip out an armoured door with his bare hands, and nothing flesh-and-blood could have managed that."

"In that version of the story, I suppose if he gets 'killed' he just reboots his processor and finds a few spare parts?" Quatre asked, becoming interested despite himself. _Well, the first and last versions sound like some of the things OZ soldiers say about Heero!_

"Something like that," Mary-girl chuckled. "There were also some interesting speculations on how he plugged in to recharge... There now, that's better," she said with undeniable satisfaction, watching him choke back laughter. "No offence meant, child, but you've a face that suits a smile better than a scowl."

"None taken." _Tell Haan that. Please!_

"Anyway, those are the sort-of scientific explanations for how Haan does what people insist he does," she went on. "There are some very **un** scientific explanations going around, too."

"Such as?" There was another tickle of discomfort through the emotions Quatre was monitoring, and his attention sharpened. _Is this what she's afraid of?_

"You already know one of them; that he really **does** come back from the dead. That he's immortal. That he's some sort of monster in human form, or a demon. That he has psionic powers, or can use real black magic. Like I said, though, I'm not saying I believe any of this!" she added quickly, standing up and beginning to clear away their plates and mugs. "All I know for sure is that Haan is a good boy, and he's helped a lot more people than just me. Nothing evil would be living the life that he does, and that's all I or anyone else needs to know."

\----------

It was about ten minutes later when Haan opened the door from the dining area and just stood there, swaying slightly; Quatre looked up from helping Mary-girl load the dishwasher and had to stifle an uncharacteristic oath.

Haan looked terrible, as if he'd been working hard for weeks and getting almost no sleep, his eyes like burnt holes in an alarmingly pale face. There were coffee and food stains on his shirt and down his pants from when he'd sent their lunch flying, and he seemed crumpled inside his clothes, somehow smaller than before.

"Haan! How are you feeling, hon?" Mary-girl fussed, hurrying to his side. "Do you need anything? Cup of coffee? I can make you some soup--"

"'m not hungry," he rasped, voice sounding so painful it made Quatre wince just hearing it. "C'n I borrow th' shower?"

"Now you know you don't even have to ask," she scolded, making little shooing motions with her hands as she nudged him towards the other door, in the back wall. "Go on, go right on in, I'll get you fresh towels and you can take as long as you like, the hot water won't run out. Your friend will get you some clean clothes, go on now, don't you worry about a thing!"

_I guess I have my orders,_ Quatre thought, watching bemusedly as Mary-girl shepherded Haan out of the room, all signs of fear gone. _She really does like looking after people, doesn't she?_

\----------

He was out of the café and most of the way over to Ryuukossei before a thought occurred to him and he slowed, exasperated. _Haan's got the keys! I won't be able to get in without them, and if Haan's security systems are anything like his anti-scanner setup, I might not even be able to get in **with** them._ He reached the door to the sleeping cabin as he finished the thought, and reached up for one futile tug at the catch before going back. _Yup. Locked. I guess I go back for the keys, and hope it doesn't require a code or a voiceprint authentication as well--_

There was a quiet, but perfectly audible, -snick- sound. Quatre knew that sound; it was the noise he expected to hear when a well-maintained mechanical lock opened.

_Eh?_

Tentatively, he reached up and tried the door again. It opened.

_He set the security system to let me in? When did he do that? And **how**?! I didn't say anything, so it's not a voiceprint lock, I haven't seen anything that could be camouflaging a camera for a shape analysis... There could be a fingerprint sensor attached to the door latch, I suppose, but when and how did he take a good enough set of my fingerprints to program a sensor with?!_

The whole time he was rummaging through the storage compartments to find a clean set of clothes for Haan, his mind was working furiously on the problem. _Why would he do that and then not tell me? In fact, why would he do that at all? He may not be as paranoid as Heero -- he does seem to be extending at least minimal trust to us all, for Duo's sake -- but he's still a very, um, cautious individual. If he won't talk to me about how he pulls off his smuggling tricks, why would he give me the ability to access his truck and poke around when he's not here?!_

He hadn't worked out a reasonable answer by the time he'd assembled a full change of clothes, down to underwear and a couple of bandage-like rolls of cloth that had been stored with the shirts; Quatre had puzzled over them for a moment, then remembered the wrappings Haan always wore, covering his shirt sleeves from the elbow and extending down to the first knuckles, and added them to the pile. There wasn't a spare cloth headwrap/skullcap anywhere he looked, though.

_Oh well. Hopefully that at least is still clean--_

Balancing the stack of clothes, he jumped down from the sleeping cabin and half-ran back to the café... but not before giving the latch, door, and immediate surrounds a quick but thorough examination, looking for any signs of whatever system Haan had installed to identify 'authorised persons' and open the lock. He didn't find any.

_I really, really hate not knowing how something was done,_ he fumed, shutting the door and turning away. _And I bet he won't explain anything about this, either!_

He had the uncomfortable feeling that Ryuukossei was watching him as he left.

\----------

"There's a good lad, that was nice and quick," Mary-girl greeted him as he sidled back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him with one hand. She was stirring something on the stove, and waved at the other door with her free hand. "Can you take them through? I can't leave this or it'll burn."

"I thought Haan said he wasn't hungry?"

She blushed slightly. "I know, but he looks like he needs something to get his strength back up, and he might change his mind. I can always reheat it for my dinner if he doesn't eat it all. Just leave that stuff outside the bathroom, last door on the left, and call in to let him know it's there."

He didn't hear water running as he approached, but it couldn't possibly be the wrong room; Mary-girl apparently liked to hang folk-art signs on every possible surface in her living quarters, including one on each door with the room's name in curly script and a riot of flowers and ribbons painted around it. He dropped the pile of clothes next to the wall, and tapped tentatively at the panel. "Haan?"

No answer. He could hear faint sounds of movement inside, though, and tapped again, harder, trying not to think about what he'd felt from the smuggler earlier. _I also felt him getting control of it,_ he told himself firmly, and raised his voice. "Haan? Are you okay?"

A loud thump against the wall next to his ear sent Quatre jerking back, followed by a downward slithering noise and a clatter as something fell over. He hesitated only a moment before easing the door open and looking in; Haan **had** controlled himself, and he **was** on the same side, and surely if that second personality or whatever it was had come out again he'd be able to feel it--

Haan was slumped in the corner down between the sink and the wall, stripped to the waist and blinking dazedly. He had a shoe in his one visible hand, and it didn't take Quatre long to work out what had happened; getting undressed while he was still unsteady, Haan had overbalanced when he bent over, and probably hit his head on the wall.

"Here, let me give you a hand," he said gently, reaching out to help the taller teen up and unconsciously mimicking Mary-girl's 'mothering' tones. "Let's just get you out of that and into the shower, all right?"

The smuggler seemed to consider the offer for a moment, then nodded slowly and reached out. Quatre accepted the shoe without comment, grasped his left wrist firmly and hauled him up out of the cranny he'd managed to wedge himself into. He'd expected Haan to be wobbling, unable to balance himself, so he was prepared to get his shoulder under Haan's arm and steady him; what he hadn't expected was the riot of colour the move revealed across Haan's chest and down his right arm.

An oriental dragon was tattooed across most of Haan's torso and continued down to vanish under the waistband of his jeans, rather like the dragon painted on Ryuukossei's trailer but multicoloured instead of silver. Its claws seemed to be dug firmly into his flesh, red ink trailing down like lines of blood, and its head and neck were positioned on his upper chest as if it were recoiling after a successful bite at the ragged scar stretching across his throat and collarbone, shreds of bloody skin dangling from its jaws. An image of something like a piece of yellowish parchment covered in scribbles of black ink had been needled into a gap between its coils, directly over Haan's breastbone.

A second dragon wound around his right arm, smaller and black, with highlights on its scales shimmering in all the colours of a peacock's tail. It was interwoven with a ribbon, the same colour and bearing the same sort of scribbles as the 'parchment'; both continued from the point of his shoulder down to end on the back of his hand, where the dragon held the end of the ribbon clamped in its jaws and looked up with intelligent golden eyes.

_Trowa mentioned the scar, but he never said anything about this!_

Fascinated by the flamboyant tattoos, Quatre stared for just a little too long. Haan's muscles suddenly tensed under his hands, and he pushed himself upright, steadying himself with a hand on the sink. "I'm fine," he said shortly, looking away. "Thanks."

"Are you sure?" Quatre asked uncertainly. Haan certainly seemed properly alert now, but that was an awfully sudden recovery.

"I'm **fine** ," he repeated through clenched teeth, left arm coming up across his chest as he turned slightly to his right, away from Quatre. "I don't need any help."

"...If you say so." He started to back away, still watching for any sign that the other teen was going to lose his balance, and caught a glimpse of more colour on Haan's back as he turned a little further and his hair shifted aside. "Um, I got you some clean clothes, they're outside the door--"

"Thank you," Haan said dismissively, then frowned, one hand going to a pocket. There was a faint jingle, and he pulled out a bunch of keys, staring at them. "How'd you get into the truck?" he asked, seemingly bewildered.

"It unlocked itself," Quatre replied, surprised. "Didn't you set the security system to let me in?"

"Huh? --Oh. Uh, yeah, that," Haan muttered, shoving the keys back. "Right. Sorry." One hand went to the fastening of his jeans, and he shot a pointed look at the door.

"I'll just be going then..." Outside, with the door closed behind him, Quatre blew out a long breath and frowned, puzzled. _He didn't want me to see those tattoos, but why not? He almost has to have been deliberately hiding them -- it's not just me, Trowa spent a couple of days with him without ever seeing them, or he would have told the rest of us. They're so extensive, you'd expect to at least get a glimpse of them if he wasn't going out of his way to prevent that. He always wears those wrappings over the part that extends down onto his hand, and he got changed in the rest area toilets last night and this morning; he must have changed in private when he was with Trowa too._

_Either Haan is unusually body-shy, or he doesn't want anyone to see his tattoos._

Walking slowly back down the corridor towards the kitchen, Quatre shrugged to himself, pushing his hands into his pockets. _It's fair enough, I suppose. He doesn't want to be traceable, and tattoos can be a very inconvenient identifying mark. If that's it, though, why doesn't he just have them removed? And why do I have the feeling there's more to it than that?_


	9. Chapter 9

_=okay now?=_

"I'm fine," Haan muttered under his breath, keeping a wary eye on the café door as he waited for Quatre to emerge. "I'd be even better if everyone would stop asking me. And just what did you think you were doing, unlocking the door for him?"

_=boy needed to get in.=_

"You are **supposed** to act like an ordinary truck whenever anyone but me is around!" Haan hissed, then stifled a cough, tasting blood as the tearing pain in his throat intensified. _Damn it!_

_=boy still thinks i am ordinary... just very good ordinary. boy thinks i am tech-- tech-- **tech-no-lo-gy** ,=_ Ryuukossei said reasonably. _=using pocket spell to hide big metal is not acting ordinary. pocket spell is bigger not-ordinary than opening door. if pocket spell is okay in front of boy, opening door is okay.=_

Haan moaned softly, crumpling forwards to rest his head on top of the steering wheel. _And how do you explain to the ghost of a dragon that technically never existed that it's easier to tell a big lie than a little one? Wave your hand and tell someone that vanishing a Gundam and replacing it with crates of crockery is 'a hologram' -- better yet, let them come up with the explanation themselves -- and they'll accept it, because nobody has any idea of how to do it and therefore they don't know what to look for. But if a door unlocks itself for them, they know literally **dozens** of ways to make that happen, and they start looking to see which one it is... and then when they find out there's nothing there to explain it..._

_Looks like I'm going to have to rig up something to masquerade as a sensor and attach it to the lock. Wonderful._

_=haan sure is okay?=_

"I'm sure," he sighed, raising his head and draping his left arm across the wheel, settling his chin on his wrist. "Don't worry about me."

There was a wordless feeling of relief and comfort, fading to something like a non-physical purr, and Haan mentally thanked the few gods he cared about that Ryuukossei couldn't read thoughts as well as send them. The scars on and in his throat felt fresh and raw again, but he was used to a constant ache from them; what bothered him was the wards tattooed onto his chest and around his right arm. Now that they were no longer exerting their magic, he could feel each symbol as if they were precisely outlined in fire, weighing on him like chains, throbbing slightly out of synch with his heartbeat.

_Why is it always afterwards, when I'm exhausted and shaky and feeling like shit anyway?_ he thought wearily. _Why don't they drag and burn when they're actually **doing** something? If I'd known they were going to do this when I designed them, I would've... ahh, who am I kidding? I would have paid that old man to needle them into my skin even if I'd thought they were going to feel like this all the time. I certainly haven't come up with anything better in all the years since then! It's this or nothing, and nothing is **not** an option._

Movement at the café door caught his eye, and he pushed himself upright in his seat, trying to look alert as Mary-girl followed Quatre out, pressing Haan's clothes -- a suspiciously large bundle, undoubtedly containing some form of food -- into his hands. _Having the cargo decide I'm not fit to drive is also not an option,_ he thought. "I bet you're not going to act 'ordinary' enough to let him take the wheel, hmm?" he said under his breath, and stifled a laugh at the offended mental snort Ryuukossei produced.

_='security system' unlocks door,=_ the truck informed him firmly. _='security system' not unlock anything else unless haan say so!=_ There was a brief, uncertain pause, and then: _=...haan not say so?=_

"Haan does **not** say so," he replied just as firmly, rubbing fondly at the dashboard. "It would take something a lot more serious than this for me to let someone else even sit in this seat."

_=good.=_

\----------

Quatre heaved the bundle of Haan's dirty clothes into the little sleeping cabin for later disposal, grinning wryly as he felt the outline of a thermos and some sort of package inside it. _Mary-girl's determined to make Haan eat that soup **somehow**. I wonder what else she put in there? More sandwiches? I don't think she had time to make anything like that -- I didn't spend that long getting clean clothes, or delivering them..._

That thought led to another, and the smile faded from Quatre's face as he closed the cabin door and swung himself up into the truck cab. Haan was looking away from him, waving goodbye to Mary-girl as the truck's engine purred to life, so the blond pilot was free to study him for a moment, remembering what he'd seen less than half an hour earlier.

_Why would you get tattoos like that and then hide them?_ he wondered. _I don't even really understand why anyone would get tattoos like that at **all**... though it was certainly a very impressive sight! And if you have tattoos like that, and they become a liability for some reason, why not have them removed instead of wearing distinctive clothes to cover them up? It's easy enough these days._

At the back of his mind, Quatre was aware that he was concentrating on Haan's tattoos to avoid thinking about what else he'd 'seen' earlier.

"Are you sure you're all right to drive?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice as calm and non-judgmental as possible; the exasperated look he got from under Haan's lowered brows in response rather surprised him.

"Don't **you** start," the taller boy said cryptically, straightening in his seat. "I am fine, all right?"

"I just thought that perhaps it might be a good idea to share the driving," Quatre objected mildly. "I can drive this sort of truck, you know."

Now Haan was... grinning? "Not this one. I don't share, and neither does it."

"Ah. I gather there would be a mysterious ignition failure even if I had the keys?"

The grin widened. "Something like that."

Quatre sighed. _I know when to give up. He does look a lot better than before... but that's still a lot worse than he looked yesterday!_ "I bow to the logic of your argument," he said dryly. "Before we go, however, let me see your hand."

"Huh?" Haan's expression was genuinely puzzled.

"Your hand." It was Quatre's turn to be puzzled -- Haan **had** to have noticed. Didn't he? "When you did that knife-snapping trick, you cut your hand. Mary-girl gave me some bandages out of her medical kit; if you're going to insist on driving, it'll have to be taken care of, or you'll just reopen it and get blood everywhere," he explained, past experience telling him exactly how extravagant a tiny nick could get if you were flexing the skin, and just how much of a nuisance it could be cleaning the resultant mess out of all the crevices in a control panel.

\----------

_**Fuck**. Why the hell do they have to be so damn **observant**?! First Barton, now this one--_ Haan hoped his expression hadn't changed visibly. _Was there a cut? There could have been... I don't remember. Okay, there probably was. Did he get a good look at it?_

"I don't see a cut," he shrugged, glancing down at his left hand and spreading the fingers out, pretending to examine the skin.

"There was blood!" his passenger objected, reaching out to take his hand, and Haan nearly wilted with relief.

_If that's all he saw..._ "Maybe it was his," he suggested, voice light. "I wasn't exactly careful when I took the knife off him."

"There wasn't much," Quatre muttered doubtfully, slender fingers stroking down between Haan's as he peered closer, looking for signs of damage. "I guess I could have been mista--eep!" Blushing as red as his dyed hair, he snatched his hands away from what had turned into something uncomfortably like a caress.

"All fingers present and accounted for," Haan confirmed, wriggling the digits in question at him with a wicked smirk and watching the blush deepen. _Three cheers for embarrassment! Even if he **did** see a cut, that should keep him from thinking about checking for it again... and wondering why it isn't there any more._ "Now, if you're satisfied that I'm not going to have any bits fall off me on the way, can we get going before Mary-girl decides to lock us in her kitchen and fatten us up?"

"Drive," Quatre said mock-seriously, still blushing but going along with the joke. "Drive **fast**!"

* * * * *

Wufei cleared the abandoned bowls off the table, scraped the unappetizing cold stew into the garbage, and put them in the sink to soak.

"I thought we were just going to zap the stew and finish it off," Duo said, watching him.

"It wasn't exactly my best effort ever," Wufei admitted, "even before it went cold. I refuse to reheat anything that has globs of fat **that** colour on top of it. Besides which, did you hear anything when you came in?"

"Not particularly, no..."

"Go into the hall and listen."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Duo muttered, but opened the door obediently and leaned out. There was the weird clicking noise the ancient water heater made sometimes, a curtain rustling where a window had been left open nearby, a faint creak from above as the warmth of the sun made old boards expand...

_Oh. I see._

"Angry typing noises," he said flatly, moving back into the kitchen and closing the door behind him.

"Angry typing noises," Wufei confirmed. "We can hope Heero's just doing some preparatory mission planning, but he's definitely in a bad mood. I suggest we either make sandwiches and take them back to eat by our Gundams, or--"

"Or?" Duo prompted as Wufei paused, looking slightly sheepish.

"Or, we could go into town to assess the local situation, and take the opportunity to eat there."

A slow grin spread across the braided pilot's face. "Why, Chang Wufei... is that a thin rationalisation for self-indulgence masquerading as mission-oriented logic that I hear?"

"You should know, since you're the master at it," Wufei told him loftily. "Still, we **do** need to see if OZ are moving their search into this area, and the best way to do that is a personal inspection, correct?"

"I do believe you're absolutely right," Duo said in mock-surprised tones. "And naturally you can't go without backup, so I volunteer to accompany you."

"I accept your offer with gratitude," the Chinese pilot responded, bowing extravagantly. "We also need someone to remain here and stay on communications watch. I propose Heero."

"Seconded!"

"Any objections? No? Motion carried. Mister Secretary, please inform the candidate of his honour -- in writing."

"I can do that, but I'm afraid the postal workers' union won't allow me to usurp their duties by hand-delivering it. I guess we'll just have to leave it here..."

\----------

The sound of a motorbike engine snapped Heero out of his fierce concentration in time for him to make it to the window and see Wufei's bike disappearing down the narrow dirt track that led to town, Duo riding pillion.

"What the **hell** does Wufei think he's doing?!" he spat under his breath, lunging for the door. "We've no way to tell if there are OZ soldiers in town-- he's compromising our security-- putting **Duo** in danger--"

Storming through the kitchen on his way to get to their other transport, an old car, he was brought up short as he reached for the handle to the back door. There was a note written in bold red marker, stuck to the door frame with a small carving knife.

> Hey Heero,  
> Wufei and I are going into town to check on local conditions. For all we know, OZ could be there right now, setting up to run a sweep of the area, right? Stay here in case someone calls in.  
> See ya,  
> \- Duo.

Blinking at the note, Heero wavered between his original intention -- to chase after the two 'truant' pilots and drag them back to the safehouse by whatever means necessary -- and a grudging realisation that they had a point. It had been just over a week since OZ had first cordoned off the broad region they were trapped in, long enough for airplanes to make meticulously detailed scanner checks of the area. OZ had to have known that the scans had almost no chance of finding the Gundams while their main systems were powered down and their scan defences at maximum, but there was always the hope that they might have the luck to catch one on the move. That hadn't paid off, which meant that the next move would be for them to block off a smaller area within the wide cordon and move in for an intensive ground search -- and that sort of search **would** get results.

_They still shouldn't have done this without consulting me,_ he thought angrily, screwing up the note. _I could have gone into town instead of..._

The thought stopped there. Try as he might, Heero couldn't convince himself that he **should** have gone.

_Duo's far better at blending in than I am,_ he admitted to himself. _Far better than any of us except Trowa. Of the three of us, he has to go. But I could have gone instead of Wufei... couldn't I?_

Admitting that **that** was wrong took even more of a struggle. _Wufei and I are about equal when it comes to infiltration and reconnaissance, but when it comes to vehicles, I drive four-wheelers and bigger. The car can't handle the track between here and town at speed, so if a fast retreat is necessary a motorbike is essential. And Wufei... the only time I know of that he's lost control of a bike, it was because he got blown off it by a mobile suit's cannon. Wufei's the best backup for Duo under the current circumstances._

There was a long pause as he stood there, fist clenched white-knuckled around the note, arm shaking with the tension in his muscles.

_**Damned** if I have to like it, though!_

* * * * *

Although outwardly Haan and Quatre had reached some semblance of friendly accommodation, the atmosphere in Ryuukossei's cab was tense enough for even non-empaths to feel. Haan was concentrating on seeming alert and competent enough to drive; he knew that the spirit inhabiting the truck wouldn't allow any inattention on his part to lead to an accident, but **Quatre** didn't know that, and Haan had no intention of giving the Gundam pilot an excuse for insisting that they stop. _The sooner I get him out of here, the sooner I can relax,_ he thought grimly. _I **need** to relax. I need a day without one of these damned observant teenagers following me around, without having to worry that 'Kossei will do something blatant or that I'll say or do something careless..._

It didn't help that something was obviously bothering Quatre. Even facing straight ahead and concentrating determinedly on **not** looking at his passenger, Haan could feel blue eyes watching him intently, and once Quatre shifted in his seat, opening his mouth as if to say something and then settling back, frowning.

_Is he just worrying about whether I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel, or is it something else?_ Haan wondered, beginning to get irritated. _Whatever it is, I wish he'd either get it over with or just leave it alone!_

\----------

_Damn it, I have to ask,_ Quatre told himself determinedly, gathering up his courage. _If I don't, I'll just keep wondering, and I'll worry about it the whole time he's transporting the others!_

_I just **really** hope he doesn't take it badly...!_

"What happened back there?" he asked, years of practice and training for board meetings and social occasions keeping his voice low and non-judgmental.

There was a short pause, then the corner of Haan's mouth that Quatre could see quirked up in a humourless smile. "I lost my temper," he said evenly, never taking his eyes off the road.

"It seemed like a bit more than that," Quatre replied, just as evenly.

Another quirk. "I have a very **bad** temper. It gets out of control sometimes."

"That's not what I saw," he insisted. "You seemed quite controlled while you were facing down those bikers."

"Yes, well, you weren't inside my head," Haan muttered, barely audible.

Quatre took a deep breath. _Okay. He's not going to talk about it without a bit more of a push, not that I expected anything else. And he's certainly given me a perfect opening, even if he's probably not going to believe this..._

"Actually... I was, in a way."

\----------

Haan's hands spasmed on the wheel, and he could feel a muscle in his jaw clench. "You were **what**?" he managed through a rising haze of panic.

"I'm an empath," the boy said, hands clenching in his lap the only sign that he wasn't perfectly calm. "Under certain circumstances, I can feel other people's emotions. What I was feeling from you during the fight was not just you 'losing your temper'."

_Oh. **Fuck**._

Despite what Quatre might have thought, Haan was perfectly willing and able to believe in empaths. That wasn't the problem. The problem was what that meant to someone whose main fear was losing the many layers of artifice and misdirection protecting his true identity.

Before Haan could do anything -- before he could even clear his thoughts enough to decide what to do -- Quatre was speaking again.

"I normally can't feel anything from you," he said carefully, seeming slightly encouraged by the fact that Haan hadn't laughed at him immediately. "That's why I was nervous around you; normally, even if I can't get anything clear from people, I can still feel that they're **there** , but you were-- are-- a complete black hole. When you grabbed that man, though..." He swallowed. "All of a sudden, I could feel you, and it did **not** feel normal! It-- it was like there was two personalities, fighting, and one was--" he gulped-- "extremely unpleasant."

After working his jaw for a moment to get moisture back into his dry mouth, Haan managed to speak. "That's a very diplomatic way to put it," he replied, mind racing. _He can't feel me now? It was just then? So-- all right, this isn't a complete disaster, but what do I **tell** him?!_

"I'm usually good at diplomatic," Quatre bit out, "but believe me, this is straining 'diplomatic' to the limits. **Please**! What the hell **was** that?!"

Haan stalled for a moment, shifting gears down and then up again as he slowed to negotiate a sharp curve. When he spoke, it was slowly and carefully, choosing his words with the utmost caution.

"I have... what you could call a type of personality disorder. The effects are somewhat similar to a form of schizophrenia."

_Once upon a time, an arrogant jerk found out that eating mermaid's flesh could make him effectively immortal. He also found out that it could have nasty side effects, and he decided to test it on me._

"I've suppressed the, ah, nastier aspects of my personality. Strongly suppressed them. I'd guess that might be why you can't feel me normally; the method I used could have that effect, I suppose."

_I have magical wards and shields tattooed on my body that are all that keep me from turning into something that's about one-third lizard, physically as well as mentally. I lived like that for almost a hundred and fifty years before I managed to design a set of wards that worked properly. I have scar tissue that's felt fresh since the day I was changed. I've been nineteen years old for over eight hundred years._

"If I lose my temper, the suppression can fail temporarily. It almost never happens, but I guess that you being uneasy made me uneasy as well, and then I was taken by surprise. I'll be more careful in future."

_You and Trowa had me jumpy and distracted, and when that idiot leapt at me the Lizard took the opportunity to leap right back. It was straining the wards, and if they'd given way I would have killed you and Mary-girl right along with the gangers. The wards would have reasserted themselves in an hour at most, but it would have been a bit late for you..._

Quatre wasn't responding yet, apparently stunned into silence, and Haan snorted. "I'm aware this isn't the most reassuring thing I could be telling you," he said dryly, "but you **did** ask."

"Reassuring--!" Quatre broke off with a choked laugh. "You're right, it's not, but at least I know what's going on! I can handle not being able to feel anything from you if I know there's a reason for it, and--" He broke off, looking thoughtful, and then -- surprisingly -- burst into slightly strained laughter. "Allah! No wonder Duo likes you so much! You're like a, a, a nuclear-powered version of him!"

Haan swivelled to look at him incredulously. "I'm **what**?!"

"It's, it's like, there's the Duo that everyone sees, and then there's the Duo that comes out when everything's gone wrong," the temporary redhead said, waving his hands as he attempted to explain. "Sometimes... Duo can be frightening. Genuinely frightening. If he has to be a cold, merciless killer to get through a mission alive, he will. I've **felt** him do it. The rest of the time he's just Duo, our Duo with the jokes and always looking on the bright side, but it's not a mask; both Duos are real. Just because one of them scares me doesn't mean the other one is fake, or that he's not my friend. I guess... your version of that is just a bit more extreme, huh?"

"I guess so," Haan murmured softly, and they drove on in silence.

_He thinks I'm like Duo, huh?_ he thought, one eyebrow lifting a fraction. _Hm._

_I can live with that. More importantly, I can let **him** live with that._

* * * * *

Wufei and Duo's first stop was just outside town, to hide the motorbike; their second was in a hiking supplies store, to establish a simple disguise. Carrying small backpacks and fishing gear, with a cap and loose hooded sweatshirt hiding Duo's braid, and with Wufei's short ponytail undone, they didn't look particularly like the 'dangerous terrorists' whose descriptions had been circulated...

...which was a good thing, as they found out shortly afterwards.

"Well damn," Duo muttered under his breath as a large open truck grumbled past them, rows of OZ soldiers seated on benches in the back. "Do we call it good luck or bad luck that we decided to come into town right now?"

"I'm voting for good," Wufei told him, glancing down the street to where it opened up into a paved plaza, where another truck could be seen. "Looks like they're just setting up; if we'd come earlier, we would have missed seeing them, and if we'd come later, they'd be ready to start doing impromptu ID checks and searches. Ideas?"

Duo grimaced. "How badly do we need a good estimate of their manpower?"

"Badly."

"Thought so. Feeling cocky?"

The Chinese pilot gave him a wary sidelong glance. "That depends. What did you have in mind?"

"We buy our food, like we planned... and we eat it in the plaza, like good little innocent tourist boys who have no reason whatsoever to avoid the nice OZ soldiers." As Wufei's eyes widened, Duo grinned and shrugged. "You can bet a bunch of teenagers are gonna be there to stare at the big guns and wonder if mobile suits are going to turn up. What better place to hide?"


	10. Chapter 10

When Quatre pointed out on a map where Trowa was waiting to meet them, Haan looked at him with one eyebrow nearly disappearing into his hairline. “I thought you lot **didn’t** want to meet up after I got you out of OZ’s perimeter?”

“That was the original plan, yes,” Quatre admitted, blushing slightly. “We, ah, changed it.”

“Well, it’s no skin off my nose, and I can make this connection, but I planned my cover trips on the assumption that you guys wanted to be scattered. The next three trips are heading out in different directions. Either those of you who are already out are going to have to travel to meet up with me, or there aren’t going to be any more rendezvous.”

“You can’t change your cover trips?”

“Nope.”

Quatre eyed him suspiciously. “Was that ‘no I can’t’, or ‘yes I can, but no I won’t’?”

“That was ‘I can’t without blowing my reputation, so no I won’t’,” Haan told him. “If I don’t make my cover deliveries, I default on the contract. I’d like to be able to get jobs after this is over, thanks.”

“I see-- hold on, you don’t have anything to deliver!” Quatre objected. “Your trailer’s got my Gundam in it!”

“Give me some credit,” Haan snorted. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to juggle loads; I **do** have stuff to deliver, and I’ll be doing it. Never you mind how.”

“Well, I do understand the importance of keeping your word in business,” Quatre sighed. “In any case, it’s probably safer if we don’t all rendezvous with your truck for future trips. We’ll be better off causing a little mayhem elsewhere to keep OZ busy.”

“I’m fine with that idea,” the smuggler grinned. “Anything that lowers my chances of having to dodge patrols is a plus. I’m good, but unlike you guys, Ryuukossei can’t fly or shoot back.” His voice had been getting rougher as they talked, and now he grimaced, swallowing hard.

“That sounds reasonable,” Quatre said hastily. “If you just get us out of the cordon, we’ll take care of getting together afterwards.”

“Deal,” Haan whispered, and drove on.

* * * * *

“I’m almost offended,” Wufei murmured behind the remains of his sandwich, eyes on the OZ soldiers setting up. “They haven’t even glanced this way.”

“Told you it was good camouflage,” Duo grinned.

They were sitting at the edge of a chattering group of teenagers, close enough that they could be mistaken for part of the group, but far enough away that they weren’t likely to be seen as pushing in. All of them were craning their necks to see the soldiers, pointing and staring; Duo and Wufei didn’t even have to hide the fact that they were counting trucks and troops, since everyone else was.

“I think it’s about time to go,” Duo said cheerfully, pointing at yet another truck driving into the square. “They’re bringing in barriers.”

“I bow to your superior wisdom,” Wufei said dryly, screwing his food wrappers into a ball and flicking it into a trash can ten feet away; a couple of teenagers applauded, yelling “Three points!” and giving him a thumbs-up that he returned as he stood.

“And you were worried about blending in,” the other pilot snickered, punching his shoulder as they walked off.

“So long as I don’t have to **talk** to them.”

“Eh, you’d do fine.” At Wufei’s incredulous look, Duo shrugged, spreading his hands. “So you don’t babble! Big deal. I can handle any babble necessary; you, on the other hand, do excellent snark. Play your cards right and you could end up practically worshipped in any high school you choose.”

“Really,” Wufei deadpanned. “My childhood dreams come true.”

“See? You’re doing it now. All you need to do is dress a little more emo and you’re gold.”

They sauntered out of town barely a minute before the OZ troops started waving people back and checking IDs; peering back around the curve of the road as Wufei shoved their ‘camouflage’ fishing rods under some bushes and hauled the motorbike out of hiding, Duo saw boom gates being set up by the last houses.

“I’d say we have an hour to get out of the house and clear of the roads,” he told Wufei, swinging his leg over the seat and settling onto the pillion pad. “We’re going to have to ditch the car.”

“Heero can drive it to the gully and roll it into the flooded section,” Wufei shrugged, kicking the bike into life and accelerating straight away. “That water’s murky enough it’ll take a full sensor scan to find it,” he added, yelling back over his shoulder.

“Cool,” Duo yelled back. “Do me a favour and pack my stuff? I’ll send Tro a message letting him know what’s up. We going to head to our first alternate location, or is that not far enough away?”

“I’d prefer second. First alternate is too close to the next logical stop on a search plan.”

“Yeah.” The braided pilot grimaced slightly, but didn’t argue. Their planned first alternate hiding place was another deserted house, but the second alternate would require them to camp out in or near their Gundams. “The roads there suck, though,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “Think Haan can get his truck through?”

“It might be better if he didn’t,” Wufei suggested, knuckles whitening as he held the bike’s front wheel steady over a corrugated section of track with sheer brute strength. “Probably safer if we take our Gundams out under cloak, one at a time, to meet him elsewhere.”

“Good plan.” As Wufei brought the bike to a slithering, gravel-spraying stop outside the safehouse, Duo jumped off without waiting for it to stop skidding and ran inside, nearly knocking the rickety front door off its hinges as he slammed it open. “Heero! Bugout, second alternate, fifty minutes!”

A slam and quick footsteps upstairs told him Heero had slapped his laptop shut and was moving. “Clean or dirty?” the L1 pilot called down over the sound of drawers being yanked open.

“Try for clean,” Duo suggested, taking the stairs three at a time and sliding to a halt in front of his own laptop. “Don’t sacrifice time for neatness, though -- they were just finishing setup in town as we came back, so they’ll be sweeping the countryside soon. We figured the car can go in that flooded sinkhole.”

“Good idea,” Heero grunted, layering clothes and weapons in his duffel bag with practiced speed. “Waiting for dark to move the Gundams?”

“Yeah,” Duo agreed, shrugging one shoulder as he typed quickly. “They’ll be running more sensors at night, but there’s no way they started a town search without getting a bunch of mobile suits into position around it. They’d get us purely on visual.”

[Hey 3,] Duo tapped out, [moving to second alternate. Plan next pickup to contractor’s specs; 1 will meet.] He paused for a heartbeat, fingers hovering as he considered adding more details; but the shorter the message, the harder it would be for OZ to intercept, and he figured Trowa wouldn’t need anything more. _He might **want** more,_ Duo thought, setting up encryption and instructing his laptop to piggyback his message on the local cellphone network, _and I know Q will fuss, but they’ll deal. Hell, **I** want more info but I’m gonna have to deal too, aren’t I?_

Hitting one last key, Duo hovered over his laptop for one tense, drawn-out minute; then a confirmation screen popped up, letting him know that his message had started on its way, and he ran to help pack.

* * * * *

As Haan pulled off to the side of the road, sheltered under massive old pine trees, Quatre stiffened. “Something’s wrong.”

Haan flicked a sideways glance at him, then back ahead to where Trowa was standing waiting for them. “He’s not waving us off.”

“No, but-- something’s wrong,” Quatre repeated, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door before the truck was completely at a standstill. Haan snorted, but left Ryuukossei in park with its engine running rather than shutting off the ignition.

As he walked up to where Trowa was greeting Quatre with a kiss and quick hug, Haan overheard their first words. “What’s happened?” Quatre asked, returning the kiss.

Trowa smiled slightly. “I might have known you’d realise. Duo sent a burst; they’ve had to move to the second alternate hideout.”

“OZ started local searches?”

“I assume so.” He shrugged minutely. “The message just said they’d moved, and to plan the next pickup to Haan’s specifications. It’ll be Heero and Wing.”

“Hm.” Quatre’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “The nearest road isn’t much more than a one-lane dirt track... Haan, how much room does your truck need?”

“Less than you’d think,” he responded, strolling up with his hands in his pockets, “but it stands out like a sore thumb away from major roads. Where?”

Trowa pulled a map out of his jacket, already folded to show an area of steep hills and forest. “This general area,” he said, circling his finger over a deliberately vague expanse.

Haan unfolded the map a bit, spreading it out and scanning the nearer landmarks. “Can Heero make it to here?” he asked, pointing at a different road. “There’s an emergency lane that goes out of sight of the road, and three or four overgrown gullies nearby. I can load up in less than ten minutes if we move fast, and it’s even a logical road for me to take on my next delivery.”

“...Sounds good,” Trowa said slowly, eyeing the terrain lines. “I think... yes. He should be able to travel the whole way down in valleys, out of line of sight for scanners.”

“Day after tomorrow, about ten AM?” Haan suggested.

“We’ll let him know. Let’s get Sandrock out and get you on your way.”

\----------

With Haan back on track to make his cover delivery -- which Quatre still half-disbelieved -- and Sandrock under cover, Quatre climbed down from arranging camouflage netting and groaned, stretching his back. “You would not **believe** how much better I feel already.”

“Bad trip?” Trowa murmured, raising his one visible eyebrow.

“Bad?!” Half laughing, Quatre rubbed his hand through his temporarily red hair and sighed. “Technically it went fine; no problems coming through the cordon, no close calls with OZ. In other areas...” He paused. “You know, I’m not sure whether to hope Duo and the others can get communications back up so I can warn them, or pray we can’t get back in clear touch until after Heero has left so he won’t shoot Haan at the first sign of anything odd.”

“That bad?”

“That **weird**. I found out a little of Haan’s history, and some more about his personality, and... he’s scary,” Quatre confessed. “But... do you know, I actually trust him more now? I managed to get a feel of his emotions, and there wasn’t anything there to indicate he’d break faith with us. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“So he’s trustworthy, but scary?” Trowa asked, amused, reaching out to tug at his lover’s disordered hair. “Red’s a good look for you, by the way.”

“You should have seen the rest of the disguise! And he’s more than scary,” Quatre insisted, batting at Trowa’s hand. “I think we’ve finally met someone who can make Heero nervous if he tries... or if Heero tries to make **him** nervous.”

“I’d say we’re guaranteed to find out who’ll win, then, because the chances of Heero **not** trying to assert himself are practically nil.”

* * * * *

“Argh,” Duo grumbled, trying to get more comfortable in Deathscythe’s piloting seat. “I wish I could recline this damn thing.”

_And take the chance of it reclining in the middle of a fight?_

“Yeah, yeah, it wouldn’t be safe. Still, G had to know that I’d be having to sleep in here sometimes; he coulda planned for it. There’s no room to lie down on the floor, and the seat sucks as a bed.”

 _My heart bleeds for you,_ came the dry reply. _I’m on rocks._

“You’re **Gundanium** , 'Scythe. Amazing as I am, I have not yet replaced my tush with cyborg parts.”

_I beg your pardon. I am currently **inhabiting** Gundanium, but you of all people should know that the shell is not the soul._

“What does that have to do with my sore tush?!”

_Nothing whatsoever. I was hoping for a distraction._

“I’ve got a distraction that’ll work,” Duo told him.

_...should I worry?_

“You said I wasn’t wrong about Haan, earlier,” Duo began.

_And I believe I also told you I couldn’t say any more than that._

“I know, I know, **but** ,” the braided pilot said hastily, “that means you know something about Haan, even if you can’t tell me.”

_True..._

“So. You know Haan. You know Heero. How d’you think that trip’s gonna go?”

_I admit, I would **love** to be a fly on the wall._

Duo laughed. “You and me both! Who’s gonna win?”

_Verbally, emotionally, or physically? My money is on Haan for all three._

“ **Seriously**?! 'Scythe, Heero’s like uber-soldier! Verbally or emotionally, sure, but--”

_**Seriously** , Duo, Haan is like ‘uber-scary’._

“That is **so** not you,” Duo told him in disgusted tones.

_I’m branching out... and you’re a bad influence._

A quiet beep from Duo’s communications panel distracted him from the conversation. “Awright! Message from Tro!”

[4 safe,] the laconic message began. [Contractor to meet 1 at 15:23:071 92:44:356, 1000 2 days. 3 & 4 will make noise.]

“Ooh, Tro and Q are gonna piss OZ off some, nice. Where’s the meet?” Duo muttered, pulling up a local area map with coded coordinates. “Hm hm hmmmm... huh. Oh, I see -- it’s an emergency lane? I **guess** that’ll work...”

_Look at the terrain overlay, Little Death._

“Oh! Right, there’s that little wrinkle sorta ridge blocking it from the road. I gotcha. Nice spot!”

The communications panel beeped again, blinking with a short-range voice transmission from Wing.

[I don’t like the location,] Heero said bluntly. [It’s too exposed.]

Wufei’s transmission came next. [I have to agree.]

“Look at the terrain overlay, guys,” Duo said, as blithely as if it had been obvious from the start. “You can’t see the end of the lane from the road.”

[...Hn,] Heero grunted thoughtfully.

[I withdraw my objection,] Wufei said blandly. [Now we just have to stay low for a day and a half.]

“Anybody got a spare cushion?” Duo sent in plaintive tones. “I shoulda swiped one off the couch...”

* * * * *

On a nearby OZ base, approximately 24 hours later:

Une’s eyes were as cold as liquid nitrogen behind her glasses as she gestured to the main screen, currently showing footage of two giant mobile suits carving up an OZ convoy. “Explain to me, Colonel, exactly how two of the Gundams have evaded your blockade.”

Standing stiffly to attention, the colonel managed not to swallow visibly, but he could feel sweat beginning to prickle across his forehead. “I’m afraid I can’t, ma’am.”

Une’s expression didn’t change, but he thought hopefully that her glare might have lost a tiny fraction of its freezing intensity. “Really. You’re either remarkably honest, or stupid.” Wisely, he didn’t try to reply to **that** one. “Would you care to hazard a guess?”

The colonel took a deep breath. While technically he was the same rank as Une, everyone knew she was Treize Kushrenada’s hatchetman -- er, hatchet-woman. If she decided he was incompetent, he would be lucky to find himself merely cashiered or demoted. He picked his words very carefully. “All I can say, ma’am, is that although my men and I have done our utmost, no quarantine is perfect. We don’t know the Gundams’ full capabilities, which makes it harder to defend against them; and in our defence, ma’am, it’s possible that one or both of the Gundams behind this morning’s attack weren’t inside our cordon to begin with.”

“They were,” she said flatly. “We had very precise intelligence from a reliable source that all five were gathered in one place. Now, however, it’s clear that that is no longer the case.”

“I see.” He hid a wince. “In that case, ma’am, I can only repeat that we are doing the best we can. My men are well trained and have the best equipment available; if they didn’t intercept the Gundams as they crossed our lines, I don’t believe anyone else could have either. At the very least it seems to have taken them quite some time to pull it off.”

At that, her expression did soften fractionally. “True. Well, Colonel, I suggest you step up your search pattern and try to find the remaining Gundams before they manage yet **another** daring escape.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

* * * * *

The next morning, Heero was in place waiting for Haan to arrive well before the planned 10am rendezvous, having moved his Gundam slowly and cautiously under cover of darkness the night before. Wing was crouched awkwardly at the bottom of a tiny, steep-sided valley, on its hands and knees in the middle of a shallow stream, and the only position that kept it beneath the spreading branches of the surrounding trees left Heero dangling face-down from his safety harness. The quick-release buckle was cutting into his chest, one leg was going numb, and he was within millimetres of giving himself a painful wedgie every time he shifted his weight. By the time Ryuukossei stopped at the end of the emergency lane, Heero was in an utterly foul mood.

He couldn’t fault Haan’s speed, at least; as Wing straightened up and climbed up out of the valley, Haan was out of the truck’s cabin and latching the trailer doors back, ready to drop the sides. Restraining straps and clips were already in place along the bed of the storage compartment, and Wing was tied down securely with the trailer closing up around it mere minutes later.

“’Kossei, switch loads,” Haan said, and the truck’s suspension creaked as the trailer lifted.

“Why do you do that?” Heero asked abruptly, speaking for the first time.

“Do what?”

Heero gestured at the trailer. “Adjust the suspension when you start up your sensor camouflage. You must have put in major modifications to the hydraulics to be able to do it, which are hard to do and harder to hide. What’s the point?”

“Attention to detail,” Haan shrugged, tossing Heero’s duffel into the sleeping cabin and slamming the door. “Your Gundam weighs, what? Six and a half, seven tons?”

“About that,” Heero admitted grudgingly.

“My **official** load weighs a fraction of that. The difference in how the trailer rides is obvious--”

“To you, maybe!”

“--to anyone who has a reasonable amount of experience with cargo trucks,” Haan continued imperturbably. “All it takes is one OZ soldier who used to drive a truck or work at a gas station seeing the trailer riding low and heeling over when I take a corner, then finding out my load is supposed to weigh less than half a ton.” He shrugged again. “If I adjust the suspension, not only will our hypothetical OZ soldier not get suspicious, he’ll look at Ryuukossei and say that there’s no way I could possibly be carrying what they’re looking for.”

“...Hn.” Grudgingly, Heero nodded, then turned to climb into the passenger side of the cabin.

 _Hooray for the ability to spout plausible bullshit on cue,_ Haan thought sarcastically, hiding a smirk.

\----------

Back on the road, Haan studied Heero’s grim profile out of the corner of his eye as he drove. _In some ways he’s going to be easier to deal with than Quatre was,_ he mused. _He’s openly hostile, so I won’t have to deal with that sort of wary, apologetic jumpiness Quatre was showing. I didn’t know what was going on, so I was tensing up waiting for the other shoe to drop. This time, I know exactly what’s going on; he’s a jealous, paranoid, self-deluding teenager._

_**Why** did I agree to do this again?_

“I have some clothes in the cabin for you to change into,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I also want to see if I can get your hair into some sort of neater style. Do you actually get it cut, or just hack handfuls off with a knife?”

A muscle jumped along Heero’s jaw. No answer.

“The clothes are going to include a jacket like the one I put on Trowa and Quatre,” Haan went on, relenting slightly and deciding not to push Heero any further than he had to. “ **Try** not to glare or look homicidal while we’re going through the checkpoint; it makes it harder for people to overlook you. Also, are you armed?”

Heero shot him a sidelong glare. “Of course.”

“Anything more deadly than a Swiss Army knife needs to go in the back,” the smuggler told him. Heero stiffened, mouth opening to object, but Haan kept talking over him. “Your friends outside the cordon steamrolled a convoy yesterday, so security at the checkpoints is up. They’re doing patdown searches, and if they find a gun stuffed in your shorts we’ll be dogpiled by half the duty watch.” Pausing, he eyed Heero sardonically as the pilot deflated slightly, closing his mouth. “Right. After we get through I’ll be dropping you off here,” he went on, tugging a map out of the door pocket and stabbing his finger at an apparently random spot. “It’s up to you to join up with the others.”

Wordlessly, Heero nodded, muscle jumping along his jaw again.

\----------

 _Well, at least he’s quiet._ Bringing Ryuukossei to a stop in front of the checkpoint boom gates, Haan slid another sideways glance at Heero. The teenager was sitting stiffly in the jeans, flannel shirt and down vest Haan had provided, unruly hair combed and moussed into submission for once. _He’s lucky I decided to be nice and didn’t break out the clippers,_ Haan thought, smothering a laugh.

“Not much traffic,” Heero said in a low voice, blue eyes scanning the area suspiciously.

“People are getting nervous,” Haan agreed. “Not many are travelling unless they have to.”

“That makes your ‘jacket trick’ harder, doesn’t it?”

“A little. You look different enough to help it along, though. Slouch if you can manage it, and for the love of God stop glaring,” Haan muttered back, releasing the brakes and letting the truck roll forwards as the first gate lifted.

Standing next to Ryuukossei with his arms lifted, being patted over professionally and thoroughly by two soldiers, Haan watched with a certain amount of hidden apprehension as Heero submitted to his own search, wondering if the impressive collection of deadly weapons the pilot had unloaded into a spare bag and tucked under one of Wing’s restraining straps had really been all of it. As it turned out, Heero passed the search with the only item found being the folding pocket knife Haan had approved; the officer supervising looked at it suspiciously before approving its return, and they stood back to watch the scanner team check the truck.

Only... they didn’t.

“We’ll need access to the cargo space to examine your load, sir.”

Heero’s head snapped up and he stiffened like a sprinter at the starting line, waiting for the gun. _Only it’s not loaded with blanks this time--_ Haan elbowed him surreptitiously as he nodded, keeping his voice casual with an effort. “Sure; it’s not locked, just latched. I need a signature on my insurance paperwork if you open anything, though, and the load’s fragile.”

“That won’t be a problem,” the officer assured him, turning away to wave his men forwards and thus missing the much less subtle elbow Heero was jabbing insistently into Haan’s ribs. “Where’s your paperwork? We just need to visually confirm the contents of one or two crates.”

“Here. There’s a space on the back of the manifest,” Haan told him, passing him a crumpled cardboard folder.

Heero was practically vibrating as the smuggler stepped back beside him, staring fixedly at the two soldiers opening the trailer doors. The officer was distracted, sorting through the creased, grubby paperwork in the folder; the few OZ soldiers assigned to keep travellers under guard were several feet back, positioned so they could shoot without endangering their comrades if it became necessary, and saw nothing to concern them as Haan shifted his weight and casually dropped one hand on Heero’s shoulder, turning his head as if to make some remark.

\----------

Heero ignored the hand on his shoulder, tensed to spring as a soldier reached up to climb into the trailer. _He’ll either vanish into the hologram, walk straight into Wing, or -- if Haan told the truth about his ‘trick’ and it works fast -- go mad,_ he thought. _Either way, they’ll be distracted for a moment. I can jump the major, use him as a shield from those two as I get his gun, disable him--_

Haan’s hand tightened, thumb jabbing into a spot between Heero’s spine and shoulderblade, and muscles locked up all the way down to his feet. “Get your expression under control **now** ,” Haan breathed into his ear, “or you’ll get us shot.”

 _Me?!_ Heero thought incredulously, unable to move. _They’re about to find Wing and my **expression** is what’s going to doom us--?!_

The first soldier up clambered to his feet with a grunt, walked to the first container, and unsnapped the fastener on the strap holding it to the wall. Standing right where Heero **knew** Wing’s foot was, he cut the plastic seals and levered the top of the crate up, pulling out what was unmistakably a blue-and-white ceramic vase. “This one checks out fine, sir,” he called, holding the vase out so his officer could see it. “How many crates do you want us to open?”

The major’s answer was lost in the roaring sound in Heero’s ears as he stared. _What-- how--_

_Where the **fuck** is my **Gundam**?!_


	11. Chapter 11

_I’m going to kill him._

Back in the passenger seat beside Haan, Heero watched stony-faced as the OZ soldiers raised the boom gates and waved them on.

_I’m going to make him tell me what he did with Wing, and then I’m going to kill him._

\----------

 _He’s going to kill me. Well, he’s going to **try**._ It was a surprisingly light-hearted thought, and Haan hid a smirk as he shifted Ryuukossei into gear. _It would have been nice to finish the job without being found out... never mind._

_If it had to happen, I think I’m glad it happened now. I can at least get a little personal satisfaction out of this, and it’s not like he’s found out everything._

Beside him, Heero finally stirred, speaking in a cold voice without turning to look at him. “You have roughly ten minutes to get us clear and find somewhere sheltered to park before I start demanding answers.”

“Sounds fair,” Haan murmured, smirk escaping his control for a moment. “Surprisingly restrained, too, coming from--”

“Shut up and drive!”

_Restraint has its limits, I see._

It took considerably more than ten minutes for them to reach a safe stopping point, far enough away from the OZ roadblocks to be at least minimally secure, but the drive passed in silence -- externally, at least.

_=haan will be okay? boy is angry!=_

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes and sigh, Haan surreptitiously patted the steering wheel.

_=haan and boy going to fight? i can help.=_

_Oh boy._ Frowning, Haan flicked the console with one finger and the truck’s engine noise hiccupped, grumbling.

_=hmph.=_

A shaded side lane provided the necessary space, regularly used by trucks judging by the tyre and oil marks in the gravel but currently empty; Haan pulled over and unbuckled his seat belt, turning to open the door. “So, ask--”

Heero tackled him out of the cabin and down onto the dusty gravel, following up the bruising impact with two quick hard jabs to his floating ribs and an elbow in the back of the head. Ears ringing, Haan shook off the pain and spat out bloody dirt, shifting to get one arm under him only to have it kicked aside as Heero rolled to his feet.

“You’re going to tell me where the **fuck** Wing is, and who’s paying you, and what your plan is,” the furious pilot snarled, groping in his pocket for his knife. “Then we’re going to go get Wing **back**. And then--”

Twisting on the ground, Haan managed one sideways look that told him where Heero’s feet were planted... which meant his head was about **there** , he estimated. A sharp grin stretched his bleeding lip until it stung.

“’Kossei,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. “Door.”

**_*WHANNNNNG!*_ **

_=haan is okay?=_ Ryuukossei’s mental voice was an odd blend of concern and smugness as the door to the sleeping compartment swung closed again, head-sized dent popping back into place with an odd little crinkling noise.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Suppressing a groan, Haan pushed himself up into a sitting position, favouring his right side. _He cracked at least two ribs; well, I’ve got time to let them heal a bit. He’ll be out of it for a couple of minutes at least, that’s long enough for them to stabilise._ Leaning over carefully, he picked up Heero’s knife from where it had fallen and tucked it away in his own jacket. “There, you got to help after all. Was it fun?”

_=kind of fun. too short. maybe haan fight boy again?=_

“Greedy!”

The next mental communication from the spirit in the truck was nearly a giggle, and Haan couldn’t help snickering in return.

\----------

Heero woke with a throbbing pain in the back of his head, confused for a moment. He had been in the truck, and they’d stopped at the roadblock, and--

_Wing!_

A hard hand on the back of his neck yanked him upright, swinging him around to come up against a sun-warmed wall of metal with a headache-worsening clang.

“Had a nice nap?” Haan’s rough voice purred in his ear, and Heero struck backwards with a snarl. “Ah, no you don’t,” the smuggler went on, and the grip on Heero’s neck shifted to twist his wrists up behind his back. “Where were we? You had questions, that was it. Let’s see. Who’s paying me? Quatre is. What’s my plan? Getting all of you out of OZ’s trap safely. And as for where Wing is...”

“What did you do with it?” Heero hissed, kicking backwards but hitting nothing. “When did you move it?!”

“You saw me hide it,” Haan said cheerfully, hauling the pilot towards the back of the trailer. “I think I did a good job, don’t you?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit! It’s not in the trailer!”

“Not right now, no. ’Kossei! Switch loads!”

The truck’s suspension groaned as the trailer sank, and Heero could **hear** the smuggler’s grin.

“ **Now** Wing’s in the trailer.”

_...what?_

One side of the trailer door was already open as they came around the corner, and Haan released Heero’s wrists. Before he could take advantage of the opening, a hard shove in the middle of his back sent him forwards into the gap.

The dappled sunlight shining through the leaves above glinted off the giant metal feet just inside.

“I don’t use a hologram,” Haan said from behind him. “And I haven’t modified Ryuukossei’s suspension. When I tell ’Kossei to switch loads, that’s exactly what he does.”

“How?” Heero whispered eventually, twisting to look back over his shoulder.

Grinning, the smuggler lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Magic.”

* * * * *

*takatakatakataka*

_\--should be successful. In addition to this, the modifications that G has proposed to the power supplies for Deathscythe and Shenlong’s energy weapons--_

*takatakatakatakataka*

_\--further calculation leads me to believe that we can achieve at minimum a 15% increase in--_

*takatakataka*

_\--and with accompanying adjustments in the blade projection systems, we can expect help me help--_

*taka--*

The noise of typing paused, hands trembling over the keyboard; then, slowly, one hand moved up to the Backspace key.

*click* *click* *click* *click* ... *click* *click* ... *click*

Another, longer pause; then the typing resumed smoothly.

*takatakatakataka*

_\--we can expect to gain commensurate increases in their destructive power. There are also improvements to be made in shielding and movement--_

* * * * *

“...Bullshit.”

Haan rolled his eyes. “So ‘magic’ is a bullshit explanation. It’s the only explanation you’re going to get, though, so I advise you to take it.”

“It’s **impossible**.”

“And?”

“You can’t just-- how--” Heero waved his hands in a frustrated gesture, lost for words. “You can’t expect me to believe you’re, what, teleporting Wing elsewhere and teleporting boxes full of fake Ming vases in to replace it! Nobody’s ever achieved teleportation on more than a quantum level, and even that takes ridiculous amounts of power!”

“I’m not teleporting anything anywhere. I just swap the contents of ’Kossei’s trailer with the contents of... mmm... call it a dimensional pocket.”

“That’s even **more** bullshit! The energy costs of creating--”

“Oh, shut **up**!” Groaning, Haan ran his fingers through his messy fringe, readjusting his headwrap. “It doesn’t matter **how** I do it, okay? Wing is there, I haven’t stolen it, OZ didn’t find it, those are the facts and if you’ll just accept them we can move on.”

“If I don’t know how you do it, I can’t judge whether or not it’s safe!”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Reliable, of course! Reliably reversible. Not going to damage Wing.”

Haan shrugged. “By those standards? Yeah, it’s safe.”

“So by other standards, it **isn’t** safe!” Heero burst out, fists clenching again. “You--”

“Get in the damn trailer,” Haan interrupted, glaring at him. “You want to know what happens, fine, you’re getting a demonstration.”

Heero blinked, momentarily taken aback. “I thought you told Trowa--”

“It’s going to be a **short** demonstration. Get in.”

\----------

Heero watched suspiciously as Haan tugged the trailer door closed behind them. Wing’s armoured leg was reassuringly solid at his back, and he reached back surreptitiously to press one hand against it. Having it abruptly not-there and then back again had rattled him, and on some level he hadn’t really believed it was in the trailer until he’d been able to touch it.

“Ryuukossei?” the smuggler said quietly, tilting his head slightly as if listening for a reply. “After I get you to switch loads, count ten seconds and then switch back, okay?” After a slight pause, he nodded and then turned back towards Heero.

“Your truck’s AI is good enough to understand commands phrased that vaguely?” Heero asked, surprised.

“...Yes,” Haan replied after a slight pause, mouth quirking into a smile. “Also, he doesn’t like you very much right now, so don’t get any ideas about jumping me while I sleep tonight.”

Heero scowled, and the smile widened for a moment before Haan’s expression became serious again.

“This isn’t going to be fun,” he said warningly. “You’ll feel slightly better if you hold on to something, and don’t look at it for too long.”

“Don’t look at what?”

“You’ll know. ’Kossei!” Haan said, raising his voice. “Switch loads!”

And the universe went mad around them.

He was standing... somewhere, Wing’s left leg at his back, Haan standing in front of him with one hand pressed to Wing’s other leg. On all sides, above and below, glowing red lines branched out from pale floating rectangles and sketched out intricate symbols and diagrams, forming a box the same size and shape as the trailer they’d been in up until now. Outside that box...

Impossible colours swirled, forming shapes and angles that made no sense and hurt to look at. He felt that he could see infinite distances, and yet at the same time he knew that there was more than he could see, cloaked from him somehow, hidden and threatening him with the potential for his utter destruction--

“I told you not to look for long,” Haan said, stepping forward to pin him against Wing’s leg. One hand grabbed Heero’s head, forcing him to look away from the screaming insanity around them, and he gasped as reality returned. Haan was real, solid, and somehow just the regular weave in the fabric of his shirt was a miracle of sane logic.

When normality returned, Heero discovered that he was clinging to Haan, hands fisted in the loose fabric of his shirt with a grip so tight it hurt. Faint popping noises told him that a seam had given way and was still unravelling, one stitch at a time. Haan was leaning into him, pressing him against Wing’s leg -- reassuring solidity indeed -- both arms caging him in, forearms flat against the Gundanium armour.

“Tha-- huh-- uh-- that w-was-- that was a lot longer than ten s-seconds,” he said numbly.

“It feels longer than it is,” Haan said quietly, not moving.

“Uh. I ca-- uh-- I can’t let go.” He was shaking, cold and hot at the same time, teeth chattering, and he couldn’t look away from the small patch of cloth in his field of view. There was a slight flaw in the weave, a thread with a thicker spot and a wisp of undyed fibre wound around it, and it was so **real**!

“Give it a minute.”

“Hhh-- how can you--”

Haan chuckled, a little ruefully, and Heero could feel the vibration in his chest. “I’m used to it.”

“Hhhhh **used** to it?!”

“As much as anyone can ever be. I should’ve told ’Kossei five seconds.”

“Ffffff-- ffffuck you.”

Haan chuckled again. “Sorry. Think you can walk? I need to get the loads switched back before an OZ plane flies over and gets a scanner reading.”

Heero didn’t think the smuggler would swap Wing back into that insanity with him still inside the trailer, but the mere thought had him staggering on unsteady legs towards the door, still clinging to Haan’s shirt.

* * * * *

Nataku’s communications panel chimed quietly and Wufei reached out one hand to tap a button, eyes still shut. “Yes?”

[Wu-man, I am bored out of my freakin’ **skull**.]

“You could always meditate,” Wufei suggested, hearing his smile colouring his voice.

[Noooo, I don’t think so. Remember the last time you tried to teach me how to meditate?]

“If you’d actually **tried** instead of talking non-stop--”

Duo snorted. [I have it on good authority that it’s just not my style.]

Wufei opened his eyes and stretched, automatically checking displays for anything requiring his attention. There were alarms, of course, but it didn’t do to rely on them. “Did you just want to talk, or were you about to suggest something dangerous and inadvisable?”

[I was thinking cards, actually, but if I’m **allowed** to suggest something dangerous and inadvisable--]

“You can suggest all you like,” Wufei interrupted, “but we are not going scouting--”

[Spoilsport!]

“--and I fail to see how we can play cards without both of us being in the one Gundam, which is also inadvisable given our current security situation.”

[Well, yeah! Electronic cards.]

Wufei twisted to look at the communications panel, one eyebrow lifting. “...Do you mean to tell me you actually got Professor G to install **card games** on Deathscythe’s processor?”

[Hell no.]

“Good.”

[I programmed them in myself.]

“Duo!”

[Dude, it’s not like I downloaded Solitaire off the internet and installed it viruses and all! They run in their own little virtual drive and everything.]

“...I’m horrified, but somehow not surprised,” Wufei said weakly, one hand over his eyes.

[Seriously, Wu, you know I wouldn’t do anything that would negatively affect **’Scythe**.]

“Oh, yes,” the L5 pilot agreed, not moving his hand. “It’s just that only you would consider installing card games on your Gundam’s computers at **all**.”

[I gather I shouldn’t tell you about the private World of Warcraft server, then.]

“The **what**?!” Back to staring incredulously at the speaker.

Duo’s wide grin was just as audible as Wufei’s smile had been. [World of Warcraft. I upgraded the graphics, and because I’m running the whole thing on ’Scythe’s processors I don’t need to risk discovery by going online.]

“You **must** be joking.”

[Hang on a sec.] There were a few clicks and typing noises, and then the communications board chimed again. [There you go. Now tell me I’m joking.]

Wufei eyed the file folder that had just popped up on his screen with a strange combination of wariness and curiosity. “Duo... I am **not** going to install that in Nataku.”

[Before you delete it, Wu, just tell me one thing: has Nataku’s processor usage **ever** hit levels where splitting off a one-terabyte virtual drive would cause problems?]

“A-- really? That’s all it needs?” Wufei frowned, opening the file information and scanning it.

[Less, really, but giving it one terabyte maxes out the frame rate. This thing was written in the twentieth century, Wu, they were working with the electronic equivalents of rocks and pointy sticks! The first few versions of it were less than thirty meg.]

“...Huh,” Wufei muttered under his breath, opening the ‘readme’ text file.

[C’mon,] Duo wheedled. [If you give it a try, a **real** try, and don’t like it, I promise to never ask you to play it again. And if you **do** like it, we can play together and I won’t be bored and wanting to go do something risky, will I?]

“What are your criteria for a ‘real try’?” Wufei asked suspiciously.

[Two hours of play and getting a character to at least level fifteen.]

“That sounds... reasonable, I suppose,” he admitted.

[Five credits says you end up playing a paladin.]

\----------

_Am I not enough of a game partner to amuse you any more?_

“Not if you’re going to keep winning every single battleground and arena match we set up,” Duo muttered, muting his com.

_I can’t help it if my PvP reflexes are better than yours._

“You’ve got no lag!”

_On the private server, neither do you--_

“Shaddap.”

_*chuckle*_

* * * * *

“There’s nowhere else convenient to stop on this stretch of the road, so unless you want to drive for another three hours we’ll be spending the night here,” Haan announced, slowing down as they approached a rest stop. It was nothing more than a gravelled area with room to park, a toilet block, one lonely-looking picnic table, an overflowing rubbish bin, and a large illuminated sign that read “STOP - REVIVE - SURVIVE”. The moths fluttering around the sign in the gathering dusk were the only sign of life.

Heero blinked, realising that Haan was waiting for an answer, and shrugged. “Here is fine.”

They’d been travelling in near silence since Haan’s demonstration. At first, Heero had been struggling to control full-body shivers and chills, unwilling to speak (and stutter), and apart from quietly asking if he was feeling better after the visible tremors faded Haan seemed happy to just drive. Even after the shakes had faded, Heero had stayed silent, staring blankly through the windscreen and biting at his bottom lip.

 _It’s in-- impossible,_ he’d told himself, hastily substituting another word for ‘insane’. _It can’t be done. You can’t just take something that masses as much as a Gundam and, and shove it into some sort of metaphysical pocket!_

And yet.

_It doesn’t make sense! Even if you **could** do it, it would take... something, preparation, generators, equipment, whatever, more than a transport trailer on the side of the road!_

And yet, for those ten seconds -- ten seconds that had felt more like ten minutes -- he had been somewhere that was definitely not the inside of a trailer.

_It could be faked. Drugs. Sonics. He even calls it a ‘trick’._

...But an OZ soldier had walked right through where Wing should have been. Wing had been gone, and then back again.

_He couldn’t have moved Wing in and out of the trailer by any sort of conventional means. Not in that amount of time, not without heavy lifting gear, not with me there, not... he just couldn’t. But he **did**._

Unbidden, the memory of Haan’s grin returned. _“Magic.”_

_It’s **impossible**!_

Now, Heero shook himself out of his thoughts as Haan pulled into the rest area, parking neatly at the edge of the gravel. “You know where the sleeping cabin is,” the smuggler said easily, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his lips for a moment. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And he was gone, dropping easily to the ground and flicking the door shut behind him; the sound of another door opening and shutting, then footsteps crunching away told Heero that he was heading for the toilet block.

Leaving Heero alone in the truck.

_...He didn’t lock anything. He’s expecting me to open and close doors, move around and so on. So whatever security systems he has... they have to be **off**._

The glove compartment held nothing but neatly stacked maps and music discs, mostly home-burned collections of the sort of ancient pre-Colony stuff Duo liked. _Not useful. Of course, he could have practically anything hidden on those discs as well as the music, but I can’t check them without my laptop. What else? Some sort of lock on the ignition would make sense--_

Ducking down against the seat, Heero peered up underneath the dashboard. A moment’s work with the screwdriver attachment on his knife -- returned by Haan after his hands had stopped shaking -- got an access panel open, and he reached up to trace the ignition wiring. _Huh. I don’t see anything extra. Unless he’s spliced something into the electronics further along the--_

*zap!*

“--OW!”

Snatching his hand back, Heero resisted the urge to stuff abused fingertips in his mouth. _Where did that come from?! The wires aren’t frayed and there’s nothing added that I can see, there shouldn’t be anything there that can shock me._ Frowning, he started to reach forwards again, more carefully this time.

The seat underneath him vibrated as something rumbled, almost a **growl** , echoing through the truck’s frame from the engine compartment.

_...The truck has an AI._

_“--he doesn’t like you very much right now--”_

_Haan doesn’t **need** to leave the security systems on if the AI can control them. Stupid. **Stupid** mistake!_ Moving slowly, Heero latched the access panel back into place and sat up, wondering for a moment if he was going to find he was locked in until Haan came back. The door opened, though, and he walked back to the sleeping cabin, swearing at himself.

\----------

_=nosey boy.=_

Drying off after a quick wash in the handbasin, Haan groaned quietly. “What’s he done now?”

 _=poking at wires.=_ The next thought-image carried a feeling of bared fangs. _=bit!=_

“Serves him right,” Haan muttered. “Did he stop?”

_=yes. in cabin. changing.=_

“Good.” Leaning back on the cold concrete wall, he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I think-- yeah, there isn’t anything he can actually reach that he shouldn’t see.” _Of course, he could still get suspicious about **not** finding odd tech hidden away, but-- ahh, fuck it. I’m too tired for this shit._ “Bite him again if he pokes at your wires, but otherwise leave him alone, okay?”

_=okay!=_

_And now ’Kossei is **hoping** Heero will poke at more wires so he can get all chompy at him. At least one of us is having fun._

Pushing away from the wall, Haan inspected himself in the mirror, twisting to see the patch of un-tattooed skin over his ribs. A faint, mottled yellow bruise was all that was left to show he’d been injured earlier in the day, visibly fading as he watched. _Good. After Quatre nearly gave me a heart attack by noticing blood that I didn’t have a cut left to explain, I don’t need another damn observant Gundam pilot spotting an injury that then vanishes. Especially not **this** damn observant Gundam pilot._

\----------

Dressed in tank top and loose shorts (spandex might be ideal for wearing in his Gundam, but not for sleeping in), Heero finished stuffing the day’s clothes into his duffel and paused, one hand still on the down vest Haan had given him to wear. _He’s going to want this back, I shouldn’t pack it. Duo called these things ‘Jedi Jackets’, they’re what Haan uses to pull off his other ‘trick’--_

He froze, eyes narrowing in thought.

_Once he comes back, the truck -- the AI, the security system, whatever -- will let him know I was prying into its systems, and he’ll make sure I don’t get another chance. I’m not going to find out how he does the trailer swap. This one, though, whatever he uses to do the distraction trick is **right here** \--_

Moving quickly, he yanked the vest back out of the duffel bag and spread it out on the floor, feeling for hidden wires or any sort of extra bulk tucked away in the padding. _Nothing there, nothing there-- wait. What’s that?_

Something rustled as he passed his hands over the back of the vest, a sound like thin paper crumpling. Pressing hard, he could barely feel the edges of something flexible, rectangular, a little longer and narrower than his hand. The panel of slick artificial fabric that made up the lining for the back was one uninterrupted piece, showing no signs of having been cut or patched to insert whatever-it-was, and he pulled the vest completely inside-out to check the seams. Small, neat hand stitches showed where a section of the bottom hem had been unpicked, then re-sewn shut.

Heero flicked his knife open and cut the stitches without a second thought, dropping it to the floor as his hand dove into the opening to pull out--

_\--a piece of paper?!_

It was yellowish, stiffer than he would have expected paper that thin to be, and slightly translucent. One side was blank; the other was covered in black squiggles, small ones around the edges surrounding a bolder design that ran down the centre and then curled into a loop around an oval reddish-brown blob. There was a faint scent, something familiar, and Heero frowned, sniffing cautiously as he tried to place it. _Not something I’ve smelled often. I think... Wufei’s calligraphy ink smells a bit like this?_

Another, deeper sniff brought a metallic tang with it, and he pulled back, peering at the reddish blotch. _Blood?_

On closer inspection, the blob resolved into delicate lines and whorls -- a fingerprint, or a thumbprint judging by the size, stamped onto the paper rectangle in somebody’s blood. _Haan’s? Why the **hell** would he draw a bunch of squiggles on a piece of paper, thumbprint it with **blood** , and hide it in the lining of a ‘Jedi jacket’?_

Broad grin showing sharp teeth. _“Magic.”_

 _This just gets crazier by the minute. There’s nothing else **there** , this **has** to be what he’s using to pull off the trick! There must be more to it than I can see!_ Heero held it up to the light, squinting, looking for embedded wires, circuitry, anything. _...Nothing. I don’t see fibres or a watermark, either, maybe it’s not paper after all? Could something be hidden by the ink?_

Snatching up the knife again, he slapped the papery rectangle to the floor and scraped the blade roughly across its decorated side, scratching up flakes of ink and ragged bits of the surface beneath until it reached the thumbprint. One more yellowish shred curled up under the blade, lifting and breaking the first few lines of dried blood, and the entire design burst into white flames under Heero’s hands.

“ **Shit**!” He threw himself backwards, knife clattering across the floor as he slammed into the cabinets underneath the folded-up bed, setting plates and latches rattling. The combined sound almost covered the noise of the door to the sleeping cabin opening, letting in a cool breeze, the scent of dust and oil... and Haan, who stood there holding a towel-wrapped bundle, looking at the gutted vest and sprawled pilot with a rather jaded expression.

“Lovely,” he said eventually, reaching in to pick up the papery rectangle from the floor. It was unmarked except for the scraped line left by Heero’s knife, as if it had never been touched by ink or blood; he looked at it, rubbing it between his fingers, then sighed and crumpled it in his hand. “Well, that’s useless now. You do realise I’m going to have to make a new one before I can get Duo and your other friend out, don’t you?”

“Um.” Heero swallowed. “Sorry?”

Haan snorted, flicking the balled-up scrap at him. “Tell **them** that.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I believe you owe me five credits.”

[Huh?] Duo sounded distracted. [Dude, can I have those pants?]

“You can’t wear them,” Wufei objected mildly.

[Not on this toon I can’t, but they’d be a major upgrade for my druid.]

“Oh. Fair enough; they don’t match my spec anyway.”

[Thanks! Sorry, what were you saying?]

“I believe you owe me five credits,” Wufei repeated, a little smugly. “I’m **not** playing a paladin.”

The other pilot laughed. [Yeah, I shoulda guessed monk would suit your style better. Where to now?]

“You’re the expert,” he said, sitting back and eyeing his character on-screen. The blood elf monk looked around and then shook his head in disapproval; the timing was perfect for him to seem to be reacting to Duo’s warlock running up to him, and Wufei snickered. “I think we’re done with this zone, though.”

[Yup. Wanna go to Western Plaguelands next?]

“That doesn’t sound like an attractive environment.”

[You’ll like the quests though, half of them deal with improving the place,] Duo said temptingly.

“All right then, lead--” His communications panel chimed at him, and he broke off. “Hold on.”

[I got it too. Hey! Message from Heero! --Aw, **crap**.]

Wufei blinked at the short, cryptic message. “...What did he **do**?” he wondered aloud, and Duo made an aggravated growling noise.

[Who knows? Something stupid, I guess.]

[Next stage delayed,] the message began abruptly. [1 to stay with contractor to relay comms. Await further info.] There was a line break, and then a less formal addendum: [I broke the jacket. Sorry.]

* * * * *

“Where are we going?” Heero asked.

The smuggler shot one quick sideways look at him, then turned his attention back to the road. “First, we’re taking care of my cover delivery,” he said, in tones that gave no room for argument. “Then we’re heading to one of my safe houses, and I suggest you forget its location once we leave.”

“Okay.”

Haan made a snorting noise. “What? No argument? No accusations of ulterior motives or incorrect priorities?”

Heero winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Bit late.”

“What do you want me to say?!” he burst out. “I screwed up, I broke something that I can’t fix, I’m **sorry**! I’ve put Wufei and Duo in more danger, I can’t fix that, I have to trust **you** to fix it, and I’m not going to argue with how you go about it because I have no idea how you’re doing any of this and if I mess with it I’ll probably screw up and break something worse!”

“Well,” Haan said mildly after a tense pause. “So long as you recognise that, I think we’re going to get along a bit better from now on.”

They drove in silence for another few minutes, until Heero summoned up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at him since the evening before.

“...Is it really magic?”

Haan sighed. “Yes.”

Heero swallowed. “Is-- are there-- do you know of other people who can--”

“I have met two other people who could do some of what I can do,” the smuggler said evenly, eyes on the road. “They’re both dead. So, no, while there are probably a few more people with... unusual abilities... out there, magic is not common and you aren’t likely to run into it again.”

 _ **Good**._ “If it’s so rare, how did you learn it?”

“None of your business.”

He automatically opened his mouth to argue, caught another sardonic sideways glance from Haan, and subsided. “...Fair enough.”

“You **can** learn,” the smuggler murmured, mouth curling up into a rather nasty smirk. “I was beginning to wonder.”

\----------

The delivery this time was to a mall megastore, not a warehouse; Haan backed Ryuukossei down a long enclosed ramp that made Heero nervous, judging by the tense way his eyes flicked back and forth in his nearly expressionless face, and then spent an hour and a half watching the loading dock staff transfer crates into the freight elevator.

Heero fidgeted at his side, glancing at the ramp out yet again. “This would go a lot faster if they’d just let us help,” he muttered under his breath, and Haan grimaced in agreement.

“They’re not working slow, at least,” he muttered back, and then lowered his voice even further. “And I’ve delivered here before, so I know three separate routes out through the mall if anything happens.”

The pilot sighed, relaxing slightly; then he tensed again, and Haan rolled his eyes.

“No, I can’t read your mind. It was just a logical thing for you to be thinking.”

\----------

Heero was never sure how they reached Haan’s base. The smuggler had called it a ‘safe house’, but that term didn’t quite fit; it was too extensive, too complicated... too **large**. He couldn’t work out how Haan kept it hidden, either, and then decided not to think too hard about that question.

They hadn’t travelled far from the mall. There were many little wilderness areas nearby, left undeveloped because they were a maze of small, steep hills and valleys; Haan had been driving along a quiet road next to one of them. He’d dropped a map on the floor, Heero had leaned down to retrieve it, the truck had lurched-- and when Heero straightened up again, they were on a narrow dirt track with trees on both sides, close enough to brush leaves across the edges of the windscreen.

“How the **hell** \--?!”

Haan was grinning.

The track ran up to an overhanging cliff and then turned to parallel it. The overhang leaned out further and further, an immense weight of rock and dirt looming over them, until suddenly a dark tunnel gaped open just ahead. Haan steered the truck into it with the ease of long practice, flicking the headlights on after a few tense seconds while the truck cruised forwards into pitch blackness.

The smuggler’s voice was sarcastic when he spoke, and when Heero glanced across at him he was startled to see that Haan’s cheekbones were slightly flushed, barely enough to see, certainly not enough to call a blush. “Welcome to my humble home. One of them, anyway.”

Heero faced forwards again, just as the tunnel opened out in front of them. The truck coasted to a halt, engine shutting off.

“...Nice cave,” he said, struggling to keep his voice expressionless.

“It is,” Haan agreed, sitting back and looking at his base as if he hadn’t really paid attention to it before. “I was lucky to find it. Didn’t even have to enlarge the entrance much.”

“How did you get it all fitted out?” Heero asked, twisting in his seat to look around and then upwards, examining the lights hanging from the high ceiling. “Without giving away its location, I mean?”

“Same answer as before,” Haan snorted, opening his door.

Heero grimaced. “None of my business?”

“Ah. No. The other answer,” the smuggler corrected him, grinning again. “Magic. Not to do the installations, that would have been a waste of time and energy, but to keep the people who **did** do the installations nicely vague on exactly where the worksite was.”

“So... even if I don’t forget this location the way you asked, I’m not going to be able to find it again either.”

“Right.”

“Good.”

Halfway out of the truck cabin, Haan wobbled, caught himself on the door, and twisted to stare incredulously at him. “‘Good’? Seriously?!”

Heero snorted. “You’ve got abilities that would let you capture us without any need for subterfuge, so I’ve stopped thinking you’re going to sell us out,” he explained. “I’m still not sure what your motivations are, I’m still not comfortable with all this, and I still don’t **like** you, but I’m willing to accept that you’re genuinely on our side. Or Duo’s side, at least,” he added. “Anything that increases your capabilities or security is therefore good for us.”

Haan drew in a breath as if to reply, winced, swallowed hard, and waved vaguely at him as if dismissing that subject. “Come on,” he said after a pause, voice suddenly rougher, and dropped to the ground, setting out across the cavern.

It **was** a very nice cave, large and airy, cool without being cold. The floor undulated gently, some areas exposing the natural rock and others filled in with concrete; the walls had been left mostly untouched, banded in different colours of stone and sculpted by long-gone water into fantastical curves and ripples. The ceiling was the same, curtains of flowstone and stalactites hanging down in a few places, but there were no stalagmites to match them and no sign or sound of water still flowing -- here, at least; there was a faint mineral scent to the air that Heero automatically associated with damp rock.

There was furniture, old and comfortable-looking, clustered in different areas like rooms without walls; one like a living room with a squashy sofa and low table, a kitchen and dining area against one wall, a spot like a study with a huge antique roll-top desk that looked out of place beside metal filing cabinets and a thoroughly modern computer.

“Here,” Haan half-coughed, waving him over, and Heero walked over to join him near one of the walls. The smuggler pointed at one of the many recesses, deeply shadowed by the angle of the lights, and Heero saw something pale stuck to the rock; a rectangle of paper, looking a lot like the one he’d pulled out of the ‘Jedi Jacket’. “These are important,” Haan rasped, looking pointedly at his guest. “Hands off.”

“Understood,” Heero said flatly, privately resolving to check for bits of inked paper before he did **anything**. The last one he’d interfered with had delayed Duo’s escape; who knew what the next one would do? Bring down the roof?

“Food,” Haan went on, pointing at the kitchen area. “Serve yourself. Bedding in the truck, sleep there,” pointing at the sofa. “If you need me, I’ll be there,” pointing at what seemed to be the entrance to a smaller side cavern. “Try not to need me,” he finished, and walked off.

\----------

Some hours later, Heero decided that he should have asked Haan exactly how long this was going to take. Whatever ‘this’ was.

He wasn’t bored. He was far too disciplined to be **bored**. He just didn’t have anything to do. He’d considered doing a little cautious hacking in an effort to find out how far along the OZ search had progressed, and discovered that his laptop couldn’t connect to any network. Presumably Haan’s computer could, but even if it hadn’t had painted strips of paper and something that looked like plaques of carved bone hanging from its cables he wouldn’t have touched it.

 _I would have yesterday,_ he admitted to himself, staring warily at the maybe-bones... no, **definitely** bits of bone, he decided on closer inspection. _Ugh. If I thought I could get away with it -- and I would have been certain I could get away with it! -- I would have hacked his system, looking for hidden files or communications records showing contact with OZ._

A familiar tickle of suspicion prickled along his spine, and he squashed it ruthlessly. _Stop that!_ he told himself, turning away from the computer and its morbid attachments to pace around the perimeter of the main cave. _Everything that made me mistrust him is understandable, now that I know about... that. Why he’s so secretive, why we’d never heard of him, how he’s stayed clear of OZ, why he wouldn’t explain things._

 _‘It doesn’t explain why he kissed Duo,’_ a treacherous little voice whispered in his head, and he scowled, hands clenching into fists.

_That’s not a valid reason for thinking he can’t be relied on! It’s entirely reasonable for trustworthy people to want to kiss Duo! Hell, **I** want to kiss--_

There was a long, frozen moment as Heero stared at nothing, eyes widening.

_I... want..._

_..._

_Wufei was right._

Utterly miserable and unable to think of anything better to do, Heero went looking for Haan.

* * * * *

“I’m about to say something utterly clichéd,” Wufei said dryly.

[Uh-oh. Okay, I’m braced for it. Sock it to me!]

“It’s quiet. **Too** quiet.”

[Augh! Wu-man, no! Never say that! Oh, you’ve done it now!] Duo’s voice was amused, laughing through his pretended horror, but there was a trace of tension as well. [You realise what you’ve done, don’t you?]

“Yes. Now that I’ve said that, it’s going to stop being quiet in the worst possible way. I believe it’s a subclause of Murphy’s Law.” As he spoke, he was bringing Nataku’s systems up towards readiness, reactivating everything that could be brought online without betraying emissions. In one display, he saw the World of Warcraft login screen blink to show ‘You have been disconnected from the server’ as Duo shut his end down before Wufei closed the game. _Good. Either he saw it too, or he’s taking me seriously._ “All joking aside--”

[Yeah, I know. The civilian cell phone network went dead a minute ago, and the satellite networks we’ve been carefully not logging into are dropping out, which means OZ are coming to the party. You’d think they’d learn,] Duo snorted, professionally offended. [They came much closer to catching us last time, when they **didn’t** give us prior warning by trashing communications.]

“It’s not as if we need those channels,” Wufei agreed. “Thoughts?”

[Sit tight unless they stumble right onto us? They’ve got a commsat that’ll be in line-of-sight for the next couple of hours, they’ll spot us if we move.]

“Agreed. Use the lake to evade pursuit if we have to fight clear of a search party? I didn’t see any submersible suits on those transports back at the last location.”

[Me neither, so that sounds good.] Duo sighed, aggrieved. [We could run rings around them for **years** if they didn’t have satellite overwatch backing up the local ground-based radar. The terrain around here is **awesome** for ditching an opposing force.]

“I have an idea about that,” Wufei murmured, and paused.

[...You’d better be going to **tell** me this idea, dude, not just hinting mysteriously and letting me wonder.]

“You’d be sure to get your revenge on me if I did. I’m fairly sure the Manguanacs are free at the moment, and -- knowing them -- would love to have something useful to do. Suppose they took out the OZ satellites that cover this region? By, for example, flying a ‘delivery’ shuttle across their orbit and dropping stealth mines? As you said, we’d have a much easier time evading the search parties until they were replaced. The Manguanacs could even take out some extra satellites along the way, just to confuse matters and make OZ think we were making a break for it in that direction instead of sitting tight and waiting for transport.”

Duo had started snickering about three sentences in. [Oh, dude, that is **brilliant**. I bet Rashid’ll be all for it, too! Can I suggest a tweak, though?]

“Of course.”

[Have the Manguanacs follow up in two different directions, not just one. That way the OZzies might get stuck trying to decide which of them is the decoy--]

“--instead of realising that both are?” Wufei finished. “I like that.”

[Yeah, **and** they might end up scrambling to move assets to cover both feints, and leave replacing the overwatch here until last. Can’t count on it, but it would be nice.]

“It would certainly make things simpler.”

[And now we sit here, twitching quietly, while we wait for OZ to show up.] Duo sighed again. [It’s so much more fun when they’re the ones waiting for us to ruin their day, y’know?]

Wufei stifled a snicker. “Into each life a little rain must fall,” he said sanctimoniously, and Duo blew a raspberry at him.

* * * * *

Haan was checking the large, complicated diagram that sprawled over the floor for errors when his not-entirely-welcome guest appeared in the doorway and froze, eyeing the pattern warily.

“Something wrong?” he asked, not looking up as he carefully touched up a thin spot. He was painfully aware of the tattoo on his right hand and arm, partly bared by his rolled-up sleeves, but moving to cover it would just make it more obvious. _It’s not like he’ll understand what it is, anyway. I don’t **have** to hide it any more._

“No,” Heero muttered. “I just... wondered what you were doing.”

 _That sounded like a lie._ When he finally looked up, the pilot’s expression was a perfect cold blank, entirely unreadable, but something about his posture suggested that he was unhappy. _Though that could just be because of me, or the idea of magic, or whatever,_ Haan admitted to himself, and sat back onto his heels to stretch his back. His throat was no longer raw, but still felt scratchy, so he wasn’t inclined to make conversation.

“Why chalk?”

 _But he is._ Deciding that the diagram was indeed finished, Haan tossed the lump in his hand to Heero, who caught it neatly. “Has to be a natural mineral. Unprocessed,” he said shortly, nodding to the irregular off-white chunk, clearly not a commercial product. “So, chalk; or graphite, clay, ochre... chalk is convenient.” He couldn’t help a slight smirk as he stood up and tapped one toe on the floor, smooth concrete painted matte black. “This is blackboard paint.”

Heero blinked, looked down, and huffed a surprised half-laugh. “Efficient,” he admitted, almost managing to smile. “Where should I put this?”

One whole wall of this chamber was lined with old-fashioned wooden apothecary cabinets, rank upon rank of tiny drawers; Haan pointed with one chalk-dusted finger as he walked across to his workbench. “The second cabinet should have one drawer open; there’s a cloth to wrap the chalk in.” He watched Heero out of the corner of one eye as he washed and carefully dried his hands at the tiny sink, suppressing another smirk as the pilot’s hand hovered for a moment over the other drawers then drew back, not prying.

“None of these are labelled. You have them all memorised?”

Haan raised one eyebrow at the faintly incredulous tone of Heero’s question. “Of course.”

“Ever forget where you put something?”

“Nothing important,” he grinned. “Mysterious fuzzy objects in the ‘fridge, yes; spell components, no.”

The pilot watched silently as Haan assembled a range of items on a large tray -- vellum, brush, ink stone, ink stick, a tiny pot of water and a small, sharp knife. Acutely aware of his observer, Haan realised he was making a point of opening the correct drawer every time without counting rows and columns. _Show-off,_ he told himself, snickering inwardly.

“Now what?” Heero asked, and Haan waved him towards a stool.

“This is the tricky part,” he began, and Heero almost choked.

“That wasn’t ‘tricky’?” he asked, pointing at the elaborate diagram.

“That was tedious,” Haan corrected him. “ **This** bit can explode. If you want to watch then you sit there, you don’t talk, and you don’t move once I start.”

“...Okay,” Heero said, a little dubiously, but he set his jaw and sat down.

“Part way through it’ll start to feel weird,” Haan cautioned, starting to pick his way through the chalked lines. “That doesn’t mean anything’s going wrong.”

“Okay,” the pilot repeated. “Uh... weird like in the trailer?”

“Not that weird. Itchy, maybe.”

 _This isn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had,_ Haan mused, kneeling in the centre of the diagram and setting the tray down in front of himself. _I haven’t done this with an audience in... damn. Three, four hundred years? Let alone a twitchy audience who’s already demonstrated he has **no** idea how to behave around magic._

_He does seem to be learning. At any rate, I’d rather have him where I can see him, and he’s a little more comfortable to be near than he was to start with. He might even get to be restful if we end up able to trust each other..._

_...and I need to start concentrating, or this **will** explode._

Clearing his mind, Haan settled his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

\----------

 _He said not to move once he’d started. **Has** he started?_ Heero wondered, eyeing the silent smuggler warily.

Haan was just sitting there, back straight, eyes closed, hands folded in a way that reminded Heero of a Buddha statue. Meditating? Was it part of the spell, or just preparation for it?

 _I’m going to assume he’s started,_ Heero decided, and settled himself to watch in silence. It was almost like a stakeout, he thought with a trace of humour; close observation without disturbing your target.

Nothing happened for several minutes, except that Haan’s breathing grew slower and shallower until it was barely perceptible. The smuggler’s expression was peaceful, permanent semi-frown smoothed away; his eyebrows had levelled out, and the crease between them was gone. He looked younger... and for a moment, a trick of the light perhaps, he looked like Duo.

 _...It’s the hair,_ Heero told himself uncomfortably. _Though it’s not really that similar, Duo’s hair is darker, and wavy when it’s not in the braid... and it would have to be Duo asleep, since he’s not grinning and bouncing._ A mental image of Haan grinning and bouncing -- Duo’s bright, open grin, not the sarcastic baring of teeth he preferred -- nearly made him snicker out loud. _**Not** his style,_ he thought, smirking.

Haan sighed and opened his eyes, reaching out to the items on the tray in front of him. His movements were slow and dreamlike as he poured water and picked up a short black stick; the scent of ink rose as he rubbed the stick on the wet stone, familiar to Heero from the couple of times he’d seen Wufei practicing calligraphy in a safe house. Wufei’s ink sticks were formed into decorative shapes and touched with gold leaf, though. Haan’s was a lumpy oblong with no luxurious extras.

 _Maybe it’s the same as the chalk?_ Heero wondered, tilting his head slightly for a better look. _That had to be ‘natural’, so I suppose the ink has restrictions too. For all I know, he has to make it himself._

The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and he almost lifted a hand to rub it without thinking before he stopped himself. ‘Don’t move’ meant ‘don’t move,’ after all, and while Haan might have just intended ‘don’t move **around** ’ or ‘don’t get off the stool,’ Heero wasn’t about to take a chance. Not after what had happened when he damaged the paper from inside the jacket, and Haan’s comment about explosions.

The smuggler had the brush in his left hand now, poised above the tray as he waited for something, right hand pinning down the paper with finger- and thumb-tip... and the chalk lines of the diagram were starting to glow.

\----------

Haan brought the brush down, wet ink glistening on the vellum as he drew the first characters. Power was gathering smoothly, flowing from the chalked lines on the floor into the centre where he sat, forced into a useful shape as it passed through him and stabilised by the binding he was writing onto the vellum. The characters formed in pairs, spaced around the edge of the ward to balance out the stresses.

He was aware of Heero, a little knot of alarm and determination at the edge of the inrushing flow; the power fluttered slightly and he felt the pilot react, alarm spiking higher for a moment before determination rose to match it. _Huh. He’s a little more sensitive than I would have given him credit for,_ he thought vaguely, most of his attention firmly fixed on the spell he was constructing. _Doesn’t feel annoying like this, either. Good._

All the fine hair on his arms and neck was standing on end, prickling like needles as the energy filling the room looked for a way to discharge. He could feel the shape of it, pinned down around the edge of the vellum and bulging upwards in the middle, thin streams and whiskers of power linking it to the main mass still held in the glowing diagram, waiting. Nearly done.

He laid down the brush for a moment, picking up the knife; as he brought it across to his braced right hand and cut across the back of his wrist there was another flare of alarm from Heero, sharper this time, nearly shaking him out of his light trance. Before anything could go wrong he dropped the knife and snatched up the brush again, dipped it, and painted the main design down the length of the ward in one fast scribble. _‘Turn aside,’_ it said, _‘eyes and mind and memory, be thou bound.’_

The trickle of blood had started to puddle on the back of his right hand. Left thumb into the little pool, excess wiped across the back of his fingers, print firmly stamped onto the vellum as he whipped his right hand away before the blood could overflow and spoil it all--

_Oh._

_I really should have slept first._

\----------

Every line and curve of the diagram blazed up with white fire, the stool went over backwards as Heero scrambled away from the sudden heat burning his face, and Haan fell over sideways with a sodden *thump*.


	13. Chapter 13

Heero hovered for several agonised seconds on the edge of the scorched diagram, torn between backing further away and going to Haan’s assistance. Assuming Haan was still in a state where assistance would be of any use to him, that was, and he felt a cold shiver in his gut as he considered that the magician-smuggler might really be dead.

Fine black soot stirred next to Haan’s head, a faint eddy towards his face and then away.

_He’s breathing!_

Most of the chalked lines Haan had avoided so carefully as he walked across the diagram were burned away, but Heero still toe-walked his way across the gaps between them, just in case. The prickling sensation had faded, which probably meant that the magic causing it had faded too, but it would be just his luck to start it up again by smudging the wrong mark or erasing some of the remaining chalk.

The chalk-soot marks were denser towards the middle, closer together, and Haan was sprawled across several of the burnt lines. Heero had **seen** those lines go up in white fire as the smuggler collapsed, had felt the heat on his face from the side of the room, but the only scent reaching his nose was a faint trace of wet ink and blood; no smell of burning at all, not cloth or flesh or even hair. Haan’s ridiculous wealth of hair was spread out beside and behind him, and surely if something was going to burn that would have gone first… so perhaps it hadn’t been **physical** fire? Magical flames that didn’t harm anything solid? Was that possible?

_I still felt it,_ Heero told himself as he crouched awkwardly beside Haan and pushed two fingers underneath the collar of his turtleneck, feeling for a pulse. _I’m pretty sure it would have hurt like hell if I’d been closer._

There was a throb under his fingertips, too fast but steady, and he blew out a relieved breath as he sat back on his heels, considering what to do next. Haan’s breathing was shallow, gradually speeding up until he was almost panting, and Heero rolled him further onto his back and turned his face up, away from the soot.

_He doesn’t seem to be actually **injured** , apart from the cut on his wrist, and he did that himself,_ Heero decided, eyeing the smeared blood next to where Haan’s right arm had come to rest. The little oblong of papery stuff was lying next to his left hand, also seemingly unharmed; it hadn’t smudged or crumpled as the smuggler fell, so hopefully he’d completed whatever the hell he’d been doing first and wouldn’t need to make yet another replacement for the one Heero had ‘examined’ to destruction.

_All I can do is treat him for shock. He’s at least got some of the right symptoms. Keep him warm, keep him comfortable, give him fluids if he wakes up… I don’t have any way to give him intravenous fluids, unless I can find his first aid supplies and he’s got a really comprehensive kit._

_First things first. Get him onto that sofa and find some blankets._

A fireman’s carry seemed to be the best option, so he pulled Haan up into a sitting position and leaned across his lap, pulling his right arm over Heero’s left shoulder. He intended to roll the unconscious smuggler’s weight forward onto his shoulders and stand up underneath him, keeping him in place by holding his right upper arm and thigh -- it could be done in one movement if you knew how -- but as Heero started the movement, the point of his shoulder pressed into the angle between Haan’s neck and collarbone.

Haan let out a strangled noise and kicked convulsively, knocking Heero off balance and bringing them both down in a tangle of limbs. Chalk dust and soot puffed up as Heero rolled away, dodging another kick, and he fell automatically into a defensive position as he turned to see what had happened. The smuggler was face-down in the centre of the diagram, clutching at his throat with one hand as he tried to push himself up with the other, choking and coughing. He gasped for breath, eyes opening wide, then coughed again, and spat blood onto the concrete below him with an ugly wet sound.

_Oh shit. I fucked this up too, I made him worse--_ Abandoning the defensive stance, Heero moved closer and then wavered. Everything he could think of to do seemed to have more potential to harm than to help at this point, and he hovered uselessly, hands outstretched and shaking. Haan coughed and spat again, then rolled onto his side, looking up at Heero with unfocussed eyes.

“Wha…? H’ro?” he slurred, voice almost too rough to be understood. “Wh’ hap’n’d?”

“I don’t know!” Heero admitted, voice tightly controlled. “The diagram went up in flames the same way the thing out of the jacket did and you fell over!” _And when I tried to move you, you started coughing blood and what should I **do**?!_

“Uh.” Haan frowned slightly, looking puzzled; then his expression cleared. “Oh. Now I r’m’br… tired. Too tired. Sh’d’a slept first…” He coughed again, bringing up more blood, wiped his mouth clumsily and squinted at the red smears on the back of his hand.

“I tried to move you,” Heero confessed. “I didn’t mean-- I thought it would be best if I got you somewhere more comfortable and kept you warm, so I tried to pick you up, but then you-- I’m sorry,” he finished miserably. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“N’ y’r fault,” Haan assured him, waving his bloodied hand dismissively. He tugged at the high collar of his shirt, then abandoned the effort, eyes sliding shut again as he relaxed. “’s an old scar. Old pr’blm. N’ y’r fault…”

“Hey. Hey! Haan! Stay awake! Come on, don’t pass out on me again!”

One eye slitted open, glittering hard bright green at him. “’S’okay. Jus’ need t’ sleep it off. ’s hap’n’d b’fore.”

Heero sighed, torn between relief and continued worries. “You can sleep it off somewhere better than the floor. Stay awake until I get you there, will you?” He reached out for Haan’s arm again, then checked himself. “I don’t want to hit your scar. What’s the best way to move you?”

“Left arm,” Haan mumbled, one hand making a vague gesture towards the base of his throat and right collarbone. “Scar h’re.”

“Can you walk, if I take most of your weight?”

The smuggler seemed to consider the question carefully, half-closed eyes serious. “D’nno. Les’ find out.”

\----------

Haan wasn’t much help as the teenage pilot hauled him to his feet and started half-dragging him towards the main cave, but Heero seemed to be more than strong enough to manage his weight, so he didn’t worry about it. The situation was actually oddly… comfortable?

He let his eyes drift shut again, trusting Heero to navigate without bumping him into anything, while he considered that. Comfortable? He was in serious pain both mentally and physically, still coughing up the occasional trickle of blood, practically helpless in the presence of someone with whom he had a relationship that could best be described as ‘contentious’, and he was comfortable?

It had to have something to do with the odd awareness of Heero’s presence he’d felt in his trance, he decided after some slow and muzzy thought. He hadn’t felt hostility then, just determination and alarm covering a deeper unhappiness and confusion. Surely that meant he could let his guard down long enough to recover. He didn’t have much choice, anyway, and he’d already slept next to the pilot -- a wary, light sleep, only possible because he knew there wasn’t much Heero could do that would truly harm him and the teenager didn’t know what to do even if he had taken it into his head to try something, and Heero hadn’t attacked him after all so that had to be worth a little trust, and, and…

His confused mental rambling ran out of steam, petering out and leaving behind only one clear thought. _He’s strong enough to carry the load for a while. I don’t have to do it all this time._

That seemed to make a kind of sense, so Haan stopped trying to think about it.

After a few more steps Heero stopped, tightening his grip on Haan’s waist and wrist. “Haan?” he said, voice oddly tense.

“Mmh?”

“Haan, wake up.”

“Mh.”

“Haan, please wake up and tell your truck that I didn’t attack you.”

_=haan?! nosey boy did what to haan?!=_

_Oops._ “’Kossei?” he slurred, struggling to raise his head. The lights in the main cavern were too bright, reflecting off Ryuukossei’s chromed radiator and hurting his eyes, but he could make out the truck’s general location -- and now that he was paying attention, he could hear it, engine noise modulated into an animalistic growl that reverberated off the stone walls. The spirit animating the truck had rolled it forwards to the edge of the scattered furnished areas, pushing one chair out of place as it threatened the already disliked person carrying its friend.

_=haan! what is wrong? haan is hurt?=_

“’m okay,” Haan told it, squinting against the glare. “Tired.”

_=haan is bleeding!=_

“Jus’ m’ throat,” he insisted. “He di’n’t hurt me. He’s **helping** me. ’s okay, ’Kossei. I jus’ need t’ sleep.”

_=…haan is sure?=_

“’m sure.” He managed a smile, and would have reached out to pat the truck if it had been closer. “Gonna sleep now, ’k? Be nice.”

_=okay.=_

\----------

Heero got Haan settled comfortably, an operation made more difficult when the smuggler fell asleep again three steps away from the sofa and turned into a limp dead weight. The truck watched him mistrustfully the whole time, but didn’t make any more threatening moves.

_That sounds absolutely ridiculous. ‘The truck is watching me.’ Not something I ever thought I’d say._ And yet it was; he could almost feel its gaze on his back, and it was restless, moving forwards and backwards in small increments. It reminded him of a nervous dog. _A very large nervous dog. A very large, metal, effectively armoured, nervous truck-dog that may not be able to bite but can certainly crush me if it decides I’m a danger to its master…_

Then he remembered where Haan had said the spare bedding was. _Crap._

Taking a deep breath, he turned around and looked at the truck. It looked back.

“…Haan said there was bedding in the-- in your cabin,” he said, feeling idiotic but not knowing what else to do. “I need to get it to keep him warm.” _It understands verbal commands from Haan and it’s reacted to my actions before; most AIs can’t understand anything that isn’t phrased very carefully in their own programming language, but this one--_

_\--oh. Oh. I’m an idiot. It’s probably not an AI._

The truck’s engine noise quieted, falling to a soft idling rumble, and the door to the sleeping cabin opened with a _*click*_. When he climbed in -- moving carefully, keeping his hands in full view -- one of the many storage compartments swung open to reveal worn blankets and a brightly-patterned quilt. He muttered thanks and left in a hurry, clutching the bedding, and flinched as the door slammed shut behind him.

Haan stayed completely out of it as Heero arranged blankets and quilt around and over him, tucking the rattiest blanket under his upper half to keep bloodstains off the sofa. His breathing sounded reasonably clear, but Heero propped him into a modified recovery position on the squishy cushions just in case; if the bleeding inside his throat started again, he’d be able to cough it up instead of choking on it. The blood he’d already coughed up and leaked from his cut was clotting into a sticky mess, smeared over his lower face and both hands, and Heero turned to head back into the side chamber with the burnt diagram. There was a sink there, he remembered, and at least one towel--

_*vrrRRRRrrrrmmm!*_

Ryuukossei’s engine revved, and the truck lurched forward a few feet; Heero stopped in his tracks, eyeing it warily and ready to dive out of its path if it came at him.

“I’m getting a wet towel to clean the blood off with,” he told it. “And I need to look for medical supplies. Actually, do you know where they’d be?”

The engine quieted again, and the truck rolled backwards to its earlier position. It stayed still for a moment, in what seemed to be a pause for thought; then it turned slightly in the direction Heero had been going and switched on the indicator on that side.

“In there?” Heero pointed towards the side chamber, and the truck’s engine revved slightly again. “Got it. --Thanks,” he added.

The towel Haan had been using to dry his hands earlier was easy to find, and so were a couple of fresh ones folded on a shelf under the sink; Heero grabbed the clean towels, then went looking for a first aid kit. That was a bit more of a challenge. The wall of wooden cabinets with tiny drawers holding spell components could be ignored -- he thought -- but that left two and a half walls worth of shelves, cupboards, long benches cluttered with glassware with cardboard boxes stuffed underneath, and half a dozen filing cabinets. By the time he got through the filing cabinets, he was half-seriously considering the possibility that he might have to search through the hundreds of tiny drawers after all. Perhaps somewhere in that wall of antique wood there was a section where one drawer held a roll of bandages, another held a folded sling, the next one down had a bottle of painkillers…

_It had better not be a magic first aid kit. The magic truck is bad enough. What would a magic first aid kit even look like?_

Yanking the cupboard next to the last filing cabinet open, he found a metal tin with a flaking red crescent painted on the top and pounced on it in relief. It wasn’t large, but he probably only needed basic supplies to treat the small cut on the back of Haan’s right wrist, after all, and in a pinch he could do that with just soap and water and a strip of cloth torn from a clean shirt; still, psychologically it was a huge boost. He grabbed the handle on top and lifted--

\--and the lid of the tin came up with it, leaving the lower half behind, shedding flakes of ancient rust from disintegrated hinges and latch. A puff of dust accompanied it, smelling of age and mildew. The bandages inside were yellowed and crumbling at the edges, sitting in flaking paper wrappers that disintegrated at a touch. Small glass ampoules full of an oily fluid had unreadable browned labels, peeling away and shedding dried glue powder onto rusted steel scissors and tweezers.

_…This is just as old as those drawers,_ Heero realised, staring at it in disbelief. _Maybe more so. They’re at least in good condition! The Red Crescent started being used in, what… the late 1800s AD? I know it was officially recognised some time around 1930 AD, but it was being used before then… and this looks old enough to be from that time._

_What’s something like this **doing** in Haan’s base? A base he built? I can see him bringing in antique cabinets or whatever because they work well for storing his weird bits and pieces, but why would he bring in an old first aid kit that’s not even in good enough condition to be a collectors’ item?_

The sound of Ryuukossei’s engine revving from the main cavern snapped him out of his confused daze, and he abandoned both the rusted kit and his search for something more useful. _I’ll make do. Get him cleaned up, make sure he’s okay, and **then** I can wonder about this._

* * * * *

Six hours after the last civilian network dropped out, one of the OZ search teams found Deathscythe and Shenlong. It was an accident really; hot, tired, and grumpy after far too long spent tramping on foot over heavily wooded uneven terrain, two young privates were more interested in finding somewhere to take a break than continuing to look for their assigned targets.

“Man, I’m thirsty,” the taller of the two grumbled, tugging at the webbing harness supporting his weapons and equipment.

“If you hadn’t wasted all your water--” the other started.

“Whaddaya mean, wasted?! It’s **hot**! We’ve been walking for hours! If I hadn’t drunk it I’d have heatstroke now!”

The shorter soldier rolled his eyes. “I’ve got no problem with you **drinking** your water. I have a problem with you pouring half of it over your head the moment you got a little warm, and then expecting me to share once you ran out.”

“It’ll be your fault if I die of dehydration,” Tall said sourly.

“We’ve crossed three streams so far.”

“I’m not drinking **that**! It’s not filtered!”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

“Asshole,” Tall muttered half-heartedly.

“Dickhead,” Short returned.

“I think I’m getting a blister. And I **really** need to piss.”

“Then do it! I’m not stopping you.”

“I don’t wanna drop trou out in the middle of nowhere! What if there’s, I dunno, poison ivy or something?”

“So long as you don’t stick your dick into a bush you’ll be fine. Now pick a tree to water, take a piss, and stop whining about that at least.”

Grumbling under his breath, Tall turned towards a medium-sized tree and unzipped, taking up the standard pose for a man urinating somewhere out of his usual comfort zone: feet apart, standing straight, and looking vaguely upwards as if not seeing what he was doing somehow made it not really happen. The ground sloped sharply upwards not far from where they were standing, and he sighed at the thought of having to climb up the slope while fighting their way through the underbrush.

“I don’t see why they didn’t send mobile suits to do this. They could have covered the whole area already, and **we** wouldn’t have had to walk for miles.”

“I heard it’s because their stealth systems are too good,” Short offered. “I dunno if they can all do it, but I’ve heard that the black and white one with the scythe, you know, the one piloted by the crazy kid--”

“They’re all piloted by crazy kids.”

“Ha, yeah. Anyway, I heard the one with the scythe can jam a mobile suit’s sensors so well that they can’t see it even on the **cameras**.”

“Seriously? That’s nuts!”

“Like I said, it’s what I heard,” Short shrugged, scanning downhill. “Anyway, they can’t jam a human, hooray for the Mark 1 Eyeball, so here we are getting all sweaty and picking up ticks.”

“Oh, ew, I hope not! I got this bug bite once… wha… what…”

Tall’s voice trailed off into silence, and Short turned around to see what his squadmate was up to now. “What’s the matter-- oi, you’re pissing on your boots! What the hell--”

Between the trees, where Tall was staring open-mouthed, there was a glimmer of metal. Something golden-coloured, gleaming against a pitch black background, shaped like a shallow jagged V. It took several long seconds before Short realised what he was looking at, and then he swore, clawing at his equipment webbing to grab his radio.

\----------

“And there we go,” Duo said sourly, slapping at controls and standing Deathscythe up. Shenlong was rising to its feet twenty feet away, shedding leaves and branches as it ripped through the carefully arranged camouflage netting, and one section of his sensors panel lit up as Wufei triggered every form of active broadcast he had available in one flaring burst of transmissions. Most of them were nonsense, but buried within the noise was a situation update to the other Gundam pilots and instructions to the Manguanacs; grinning despite his annoyance, Duo hit a preset control and added his own chaotic transmissions to the mess. “Have fun decoding **that** , schmucks!”

[I gather you got creative?] Wufei said dryly over the scrambled short-range link.

“Oh yeah. Music videos, rude limericks, and about seventy-five spreadsheets that ought to look nice and interesting until they work out the data; it’s all diet menus and calorie count info I lifted from a gym six months ago.”

[Creative indeed.]

“Yeah, and if there’s any justice in the world Une will assign those two twerps the job of sifting through it all for anything useful. Why’d they have to spot **me**?! I mean, ’Scythe?” he corrected himself.

[Because they stopped right in front of you instead of further down the hillside, Deathscythe still has metallic accents despite its more sinister colour scheme, and shiny gold stands out even better on a dark background than it does against blue and red?] Wufei suggested.

“Ya had to go all **logical** on me, didn’t you?” Duo huffed, and carefully stepped over the gaping OZ soldiers. The taller one was still staring blankly, pants beginning to sag, and his shorter friend was desperately trying to drag him out of the way while shouting into his radio. “Don’t worry, dude, I’m not actually mad enough to squash you,” Duo muttered, not bothering to switch on his external speakers. “I figure you’ve had enough crap happen to you today…”

* * * * *

“Well?”

The colonel managed not to flinch, but it was a near thing. “The Gundams evaded pursuit and submerged in the nearby lake, Lady Une. We had anticipated this possibility and our entire complement of Pisces suits were pre-deployed underwater to block their escape, but… ah… were not successful. One Pisces pilot has been recovered seriously injured but alive; the others are missing, presumed dead.”

“And their exit from the lake?”

“Either they are still underwater, or they managed it unobserved,” he admitted. “None of our picket troops reported a sighting, and while the Alpha 9 commsat is still technically in line-of-sight of the area, its viewing angle has been… less than optimal for the last three hours. The terrain blocks it from observing more than about forty percent of the shoreline right now.”

Une was still expressionless. “So we are back where we started, without any concrete information on where within the search area the Gundams may be… except that Wing Gundam was not present with the others, and can be presumed to have escaped.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you intend to rectify the situation, Colonel?”

He straightened his shoulders. “Ma’am, when this operation began I put in a request for at least one commsat to be moved into a geosynchronous orbit over this area, to provide 24-7 overwatch that could not be blocked by terrain features. My request was denied, on the basis that this would require significant expenditure of manoeuvring mass and downgrade surveillance elsewhere. I intend to resubmit my request, and would appreciate it if you could sign off as supporting it.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Even with the loss of the Pisces suits today, I am confident that I have sufficient personnel and equipment to apprehend or destroy the remaining two Gundams if we can just **find** them.”

“…Well.” She eyed him, and he thought he saw a faint, approving smile curl her lip for a moment. “I believe I will support your request, Colonel. Try not to make this turn out to be me giving you enough rope to hang yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said fervently.

* * * * *

Stepping carefully and quietly, a young Chinese man carried a dinner tray into Master O’s quarters. He could hear the scientist’s voice from the next room as he put the tray down on the low table and began to set the various dishes out neatly; flickering light and another, sharper voice indicated that the Master was calling one of his colleagues on the vidphone.

“You have received no updates either?”

[No, and if I had I wouldn’t tell you!] came a snappish reply. [We agreed to compartmentalise information, O, and I’m not talking!]

“I think you are taking this unreasonably far, J.”

[And I think you’re not taking it far enough. Some of the compromised information has been data that was supposed to be available only to the five of us! Whoever’s talking has to be extremely close to the top of one of our networks, and **trusted**. I predict we’re going to be very unhappy when we find out who it is.]

There was a pause before Master O replied, voice quieter and indistinct. The young servant ignored the continuing conversation -- none of his business, after all -- and straightened up, tucking the tray under his arm while he checked the arrangement of dishes one last time. As he did so, he stifled a sneeze, rubbing his nose; the Master had been burning more incense than usual lately, and the room’s air was heavy with scented smoke. He sniffed, trying to clear a tickle, then frowned and sniffed again. There was another scent under the incense, sweet but somehow off… spoiled fruit? Had he missed clearing a bowl last night, or failed to empty a wastebasket?

He turned to check the rest of the room, then quickly took the tray out from under his arm and bowed deeply as Master O appeared in the doorway. The tall, bald man looked blankly in his direction for a moment, then frowned slightly. “Are you not finished?”

“Your pardon, Master. I was about to leave, unless you have a task for me…?”

“No.” Master O brushed past him as he bowed again, and the young man wrinkled his nose as a stronger eddy of the spoiled-fruit scent reached him.

_Perhaps the Master’s soap is interacting strangely with the incense,_ he thought, letting himself out. _Ah well. So long as it is not something **I** have done wrong._

\----------

Alone in his private rooms, Master O stood staring at the ranked dishes for a while; then he moved, stiffly but precisely, picking up the savoury foods two at a time and carrying them into his bathroom, tipping them into the toilet and flushing them away. Replacing the bowls exactly in their places, he picked up the few sweet items in his fingers and wolfed them down, eating with haste but no apparent pleasure.

Finished with the dishes, he picked up the teapot and carried it to his desk. He opened one of the drawers to reveal a large bag of sugar, poured about a cup of it into the tea, and stirred with one finger until it had mostly dissolved in the hot water. His hand was red and swollen when he was satisfied, but his expression did not change as he raised the teapot to his mouth and drank the steaming tea directly from the spout.

Afterwards, he returned the bag to his drawer and the teapot to the low dining table, then sat at his computer and began to type. His movements were still oddly stiff and precise and his face was completely expressionless, marred only by the tears running down his cheeks.


	14. Chapter 14

“You don’t approve.”

Une stiffened. “I assure you, Treize-sama, I had no intention of--”

“Protesting?” Treize interrupted, raising one eyebrow at her.

“…Arguing with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It’s not my place to object to your orders.”

“But you don’t approve,” he repeated, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk, hands folded together in front of his chin. “Do you?”

She hesitated for a moment, marshalling her thoughts, then lifted her chin and met his eyes. “No, Treize-sama, I don’t. This does not match well with your previous actions and philosophy of war.”

“You don’t think so? I rather thought it was quite an elegant solution to any number of problems, myself.” He was smiling faintly, almost derisively, and she frowned.

_Is he laughing at me, or at himself?_ “It’s certainly **convenient** ,” she admitted. “Undoubtedly useful, as well-- to a point, at least. I must remind you that although Doctor Morrow’s techniques can apparently guarantee truthful intelligence reports from his ‘subjects’, they cannot guarantee the success of operations based on that intelligence.”

“As is currently being demonstrated by the Gundams, yes,” he agreed, lips thinning. “I can assure you that I don’t overestimate its utility, Lady Une, but I also don’t **under** estimate it. We should be able to take direct and decisive action against the Resistance within the month, thanks to the good Doctor.”

_‘Good’!_ Une thought, suppressing a shudder. _There’s nothing ‘good’ about that man._ “I can’t deny that he gets results,” she said stiffly. “I do object to the fact that he refuses to disclose his methods.” _And to the fact that you’ve just handed over all the facilities and funding he’s demanded, without even trying to find out what he’s **doing** with them…_

“Artistic temperament,” he suggested, smile returning.

“From a scientist?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He rose to his feet, waving one hand dismissively. “Be that as it may, he and his ‘subjects’ have proven to be very useful, and his work is necessary for the next phase of our strategy, so I’m not inclined to upset him by arguing when he demands privacy. Now, I believe my transport is waiting, so--”

“Treize-sama!” she interrupted, and he paused halfway to the door, looking back at her.

“Yes?”

“It may seem odd for me to be the one expressing doubts about the doctor’s methods, given that in the past you yourself have rebuked me for being too eager to declare that the ends justify the means,” Une went on, forcing the words out past the tightness in her throat. “However. Even I know that you can’t judge whether the ends justify the means if you don’t know what the means **are**.”

He stalked out without saying anything more, not quite slamming the door behind him.

_Is he getting impatient?_ she thought, gathering up the paperwork they’d been discussing and tucking it neatly away in her briefcase. _He’s been tired lately, irritated when things haven’t gone to plan, and the military campaign has suffered so many setbacks… does he want a way to make his plans work badly enough to compromise the ideals he based those plans on?_

He’d left without logging out of the computer -- as usual -- and she walked around the desk to shut it down, checking to make sure he hadn’t left any classified data chips or paperwork behind. The familiar routine was accompanied by an unfamiliar twinge of annoyance.

_He remembers to log off and secure his data well enough when I’m not here to do it for him!_ Une frowned, ejecting a data chip and checking the label before tucking it into the briefcase next to her own files. _When I **am** here, he takes it for granted that I’ll tidy up behind him._

_Well, I am his assistant…_

_But not his maid!_

The irritation was a welcome distraction from her worries, and by the time she snapped her briefcase shut and left the room her normal cold façade was securely in place once more.

* * * * *

When Haan woke up, Heero was sitting opposite the sofa, watching him. The Gundam pilot had dark shadows under his eyes, fatigue (and the overstuffed chair he was sitting in) shifting his posture away from his normal rigidly straight bearing into something that was almost a slump, but he was awake and alert and sat up straight as soon as Haan opened his eyes.

“Feeling better?” he asked, expression unreadable.

“…Yeah.” He was, too, muzzy from sleep but otherwise feeling fully recovered; even the scars on and in his throat barely twinged as he moved. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “How long--?”

“Eight and a half hours,” Heero answered promptly, without needing to check the time.

“Uhm. That’s good. I think. Did you get any sleep?”

“Some.”

Haan blinked and squinted at him. “Some?”

“Enough.”

_Either he’s back to being pissed and paranoid, or ‘blank’ is just his default look,_ Haan decided, rubbing both hands over his face. His memory was poking at him, telling him that Heero hadn’t been either blank or paranoid while he was dealing with the after-effects of the nearly-failed spell, but… _I’m not awake enough yet. He’s going to want to talk about what happened, and… no. Not awake enough._

“…I need some coffee.”

\- - - - -

Heero stayed silent as Haan made coffee, watching as the smuggler slumped down onto the counter with a discontented noise, head on folded arms as he waited for the kettle to boil. It brought back the fleeting resemblance to Duo he’d noticed earlier, and he frowned, examining the feeling.

_It’s not just the implied ‘Oh God, morning already, give me caffeine or give me death’,_ he thought, remembering a direct quote from Duo, _it’s… I’m not sure. Is it because he’s moving differently? Talking differently? It could just be lingering fatigue…_

Without lifting his head, Haan dropped one arm down next to him, tugged open a cupboard, and felt around blindly for a few seconds before pulling out a mug and pushing it in the general direction of the coffee supplies. After a slight pause, he did it again, pulling out a second mug.

_He wouldn’t have behaved like this two days ago,_ Heero realised. _He wouldn’t have shown any sort of vulnerability in front of me. He would have been snarky, or darkly amused, or angry, or aloof, or any number of things, but even if he felt tired or sleepy he wouldn’t have allowed himself to **act** like it._

_Is he just too tired to realise what he’s doing, or has he actually decided he doesn’t need to be that defensive around me?_

_…_

_Probably just tired,_ he decided eventually, ruthlessly suppressing an unexpected pang of disappointment. _He was still wary last night, and it’s not as if he’s had time since then to make any sort of decision._

The purr of Ryuukossei’s engine -- which had continued at a low, worried throb all night **without** filling the cave system with exhaust fumes, leading to some wary speculation about magical fuel systems on Heero’s part -- shifted to a slightly higher pitch for a moment, and Haan chuckled.

“’M fine,” he said, rolling his head to the side so that he could see the truck without straightening up. The truck revved again, and from where Heero sat he could just see Haan’s smile soften fondly.

Whatever the smuggler said next was too quiet for Heero to decipher, and he looked down at his hands, eyes narrowing in thought. _Do I mention it? Or do I let him think I just never noticed?_

_If he thinks about it at all, he’s going to realise I must have noticed. There’s the first aid kit, too. Bits of it literally fell apart, so I can’t just put it back together and pretend it never happened. It’s going to be really obvious I messed with **that** when he-- wait. How likely is it that he’ll look in that cupboard any time soon? And how long is it since the last time he looked in there? It’s not like he’s been using it, ha, he doesn’t **need** a first aid kit, maybe he hasn’t opened that cupboard since-- since-- since whenever the hell it was that it got put in there--_

A hand appeared in front of his bowed head, holding a steaming mug, and he reared back in shock, grabbing for a weapon he didn’t have.

“…Sorry,” Haan said, looking genuinely apologetic. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“Uh. That’s. Uh,” Heero stuttered, then coughed to bring his voice back under control. “I wasn’t paying attention.” The black dragon tattooed on the back of Haan’s right hand seemed to be staring at him as he reached for the mug, and he avoided touching it, eyes sliding to the patch of unmarked skin on the back of Haan’s wrist and then away. _For all I know it **is** looking at me…_

The smuggler settled back onto the squishy sofa cushions, shoving the blankets and quilt out of the way, and breathed in the steam from his coffee with a quiet sigh. He seemed more awake already, eyes much more aware, and Heero realised that the constant background throb from Ryuukossei’s engine had stopped.

_He must be better if the truck’s stopped worrying about him,_ he thought, and hid a snort behind his own mug.

“If you’re going to ask any questions, now is good,” Haan said, breaking the slightly awkward pause. His voice was calm, but Heero noted that his eyebrows were drawing in again, crinkling the skin between them in an expression that was almost-but-not-quite his usual half-scowl.

\- - - - -

_Why am I anxious?_ Haan thought, exasperated at himself. The fog of sleep and recuperation from energy-drain was clearing from his thoughts, slower than he’d have liked but fast enough for intelligent conversation, and he was startled to discover that as it faded, what it revealed underneath was… concern?

_I actually care what he thinks. About me,_ he realised, startled. _He’s been a paranoid asshole who started out with an unacknowledged grudge against me for kissing his secret crush, I’ve been cheerfully pushing his buttons and snarking at the results, and suddenly I want him to **like** me?! When did **that** happen?!_

On cue, another bit of memory fell into place, and he lifted the hand that wasn’t occupied with his coffee to rub at his eyes again, ducking his head to hide a wince.

_Oh. Right. Last night. When he was on the edge of the magic, and I **felt** him, and he was… decent? Unhappy, that’s for sure, but not an asshole underneath his barriers… though he’s depressingly good at acting like an asshole, that’s for sure. I think I would have liked him from the start if he hadn’t been so set on hating me._

“I found your first aid kit,” Heero said abruptly, derailing Haan’s train of thought into utter confusion.

“My what?” He looked up, startled, to find the pilot clutching his own coffee mug so tightly that his knuckles were white and staring at him with an expression that he would probably have called ‘paranoid’ or ‘accusing’ a day earlier.

“Your first aid kit.”

“…I don’t have a first aid kit,” he said eventually, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say in the face of the teenager’s obvious tension.

One corner of Heero’s mouth twitched up in a brief, mirthless smile. “I think it’s about four hundred years old.”

Haan went very still.

“It’s not surprising that you forgot about it,” Heero went on, starting to talk faster, “seeing how old it is, and-- and I’m pretty sure you don’t **need** a first aid kit anyway, given that when I cleaned up the blood and tried to treat the cut on your wrist it had already healed.” He paused for a moment, hands flexing nervously on the mug, then seemed to take courage from the fact that Haan was just staring silently at him and took a deep breath to continue. “So I spent a lot of time last night thinking about magic, and reasons why you might have a four hundred year old first aid kit in a base you say you personally built, and since I don’t think you’re the type to collect random antiques and then not take care of them I keep coming back to the idea that maybe you have a four hundred year old first aid kit here because it was new when you bought--”

“You need to stop talking **right now** ,” Haan choked out, letting go of his mug and doubling over, clutching at his head. He barely noticed as coffee splashed everywhere, hot liquid soaking through his socks.

_Oh gods he knows, he worked it out, he **knows** \-- calm down, stop it, he has his own reasons for not wanting to expose me, calm **down** , he won’t-- that won’t happen again--_

Something stirred in his mind. _…Kill?_

_Oh shit no._

“Haan--”

“ **Shut up.** ” He was gulping air, huge shuddering breaths that shook his whole body. “Ryuukossei!”

The truck rolled forwards, bulling furniture out of the way as it advanced, and Heero’s chair went over backwards as he scrambled away from the oncoming wall of chromed steel.

_Good he’s out of reach--_ “’Kossei, **wait**.” Another gasp for air. “If I go Lizard-- if I lose it, let him in your cabin and don’t let me in until I’m safe. Understand?”

_=haan is afraid of boy?! i can--=_

“ **Answer me!** ”

_=…yes. understand.=_

“Good.” More shuddering breaths. Heero had stopped backing away. “Yui. You got that?”

“Yes.” The pilot’s voice was cold and businesslike as he replied, and Haan shuddered as the Lizard stirred again. “If you attack me, I should take shelter in the truck instead of fighting--”

“ **No** ,” Haan interrupted, still clutching his head. “If I attack you, fight back any way you have to and **then** take shelter in ‘Kossei. Don’t worry about hurting me.”

“…Understood.”

“Good.” Gasp. “Now for fuck’s sake stop talking like a robot. Please. You’re creeping the Lizard out.”

There was a pause before Heero replied, and his voice was back to a slightly shaky facsimile of ‘normal’ when he spoke. “Sorry. Duo--” He cleared his throat as his voice cracked, then went on, “Duo calls that ‘Mission Computer Mode’. I tend to do it in fights. Uh… ‘the Lizard’?”

Haan huffed an almost-laugh and made a vague gesture with his right hand, waving the unmarked wrist in Heero’s direction. “Kind of a split personality thing. Came with the healing and… other stuff.” _He knows, he knows, he already knows, fuck it, there’s no point in trying to hide it… and I did feel him. He isn’t really an asshole. Maybe…_

“Other stuff?” Heero took a tentative step back towards the fallen chair, and Haan waved again, this time more of a warding gesture.

“You should probably stay out of reach,” he said quietly, uncurling until he could get his elbows on his knees and relax a bit, still hunched over but no longer in a cramped knot of panic. “For a while. As long as we’re talking about this, at least.”

“You could just tell me it’s none of my business again,” Heero suggested, looking down at the mug he was still clutching, though its contents had joined Haan’s coffee all over the floor when he took evasive action to get away from Ryuukossei. “Though you **did** say now was a good time to ask questions.”

This time, Haan really did laugh, and Heero managed what looked like a genuine smile. “Want some more coffee?”

“Yeah. Maybe I should ask Mary-girl for some decaf next time I stop there…”

By the time Heero came back with fresh coffee and the towels he’d used to clean up the night before (still damp after being rinsed out and draped over the sink to dry, but effective enough at mopping up spilt coffee), Haan had managed to straighten up and was lying back against the sofa cushions. He didn’t dare close his eyes -- if Heero took him by surprise the way he’d startled the pilot earlier, things could get very bad -- but he was staring up at the patterns of light and shadow on the water-sculpted rock ceiling, controlling his breathing and feeling the icy knot in his stomach slowly dwindle.

The Lizard wasn’t going anywhere, though. It wasn’t pushing, but it stirred again at the sound of footsteps from the kitchen area, wary and interested, and Haan shivered.

Heero put one of the coffee mugs down on the end of a low bench that usually sat against the wall in Haan’s workshop, then used one foot to nudge the bench across the floor. As soon as the mug was within the smuggler’s reach, he stepped back, watching carefully until Haan had picked it up and settled back on the sofa; then he used the same foot to hook the bench back towards him and sat on it, cradling his own drink, poised and ready to jump up again at a moment’s notice.

The cold lump in Haan’s stomach abruptly loosened. _He gets it. He understands!_

Heero had delivered the coffee while staying out of grabbing range, been ready to dodge if Haan had thrown the mug or bench at him, and then removed the bench from consideration as a possible weapon.

_He took me at my word. He’s not giving me some bullshit about trusting me not to hurt him, but he **is** trusting me -- he’s trusting me to give him accurate information about the threat I pose to him right now, and he’s taking proper precautions without me having to spell them out. Even if the Lizard goes for him, I think he’ll be okay--_

He laughed, choked on a half-sob, and let his head fall back against the cushions again. “You have no idea how glad I am right now that you’re a paranoid terrorist.”

\- - - - -

Heero paused, mug halfway to his lips, and frowned. “I thought you didn’t like me being paranoid.”

“That was when you were being unreasonably paranoid,” the smuggler demurred, lips curling in a strange smile. “Now you’re being **sensibly** paranoid.”

“I’m taking precautions based on what you’ve told me,” Heero snorted, taking a swallow of coffee before going on. “That’s not paranoid. That’s standard procedure.”

“For you, maybe. Other people have a depressing tendency to say something like ‘Oh, you don’t really **mean** that!’ if you tell them it’s dangerous to be around you right now. Then they insist on patting you on the hand and getting you a glass of water, and standing right next to you while-- are you okay?”

Heero had choked on the next swallow of coffee and was spluttering, wiping his chin with the back of one hand. “Yes! I-- _*kaff*_ I know **exactly** what you mean. Heh.”

Haan was looking quizzically at him, one eyebrow raised. “Exactly?”

“About ten months ago, I tried to shoot… somebody,” Heero said, editing his sentence to keep Relena’s name out of the story at the last second. “I told her that I’d kill her as soon as I got a better chance. The next thing I knew, she hand-delivered me an invitation to a tea party, and now she’s **stalking** me.”

It was Haan’s turn to snort, but at least he wasn’t taking a drink at the time. “So you didn’t actually shoot her, in the end?”

“She’s more valuable to the colonies alive,” Heero muttered, not realising until he’d spoken how disgruntled he sounded. “ **She** thinks I haven’t shot her because we’re ‘destined’ for each other.”

“Ah. Romance novels and sappy movies have drained the good sense out of yet another victim, I see.” Haan took a sip of coffee and rested the mug against his stomach, settling deeper into the cushions.

_He’s breathing more steadily. Hands are relaxing. Muscles in his throat aren’t tensed so much any more. And he’s deliberately put himself in a position where he can’t jump up in a hurry…_ Heero shifted one foot further underneath him, just in case, and licked dry lips before speaking again, careful to keep his tone conversational. “Was there something specific that I said or did at the start of all this, that set you off? So I can avoid doing it again, if possible.”

Haan’s right hand jerked, spasming tight around the mug’s handle, but the rest of his body remained still. “…You knew enough to be having that conversation with me,” he said eventually. “That’s all. You… worked it out.”

Heero swallowed hard, feeling a chill prickle down his spine. _I didn’t really believe it, though!_ “Then… you actually are…?”

“Approximately eight hundred and fifty years old,” Haan said flatly, staring up at the ceiling. His hand twitched again. “Yes.”

_…Well. Shit._

\- - - - -

Haan kept staring up at the ceiling, but he was acutely aware of Heero, tensely waiting to find out how the pilot would react. It felt like the Lizard was lurking at the bottom of his mind, waiting for its cue, and he hoped -- desperately -- that it wouldn’t get one.

“… **Huh** ,” Heero said eventually, and blinked. His coffee mug had been hovering just below his chin, poised in one hand, and he took a slow sip, then carefully lowered the mug to hold it in both hands between his knees. “I… wasn’t really expecting to be right, so… I frankly have no idea how to react.”

“That’s better than some of the possible reactions,” Haan said, and winced at how bitter his tone had become.

“I assume you’re speaking from experience.”

“Oh, yes. The time my friends tried to burn me at the stake was **not** the worst one.”

Heero’s eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “That’s…” He struggled for a moment to find a way to finish the sentence, eventually managing a heartfelt “ **Ow**!”, the most teenager-ish thing he’d ever said in Haan’s hearing. “That’s definitely the best reason I’ve ever heard for trying to keep something a secret.”

“Speaking of which,” Haan said, keeping his voice flat with an effort, “I need to ask if you’re planning to share this with anyone.” His right hand flexed, tightening on the mug’s handle and relaxing again, and this time he didn’t try to push the Lizard down.

Heero didn’t answer immediately, frowning in thought and rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. Oddly enough, Haan found that the delay was reassuring; if Heero had jumped to answer, assuring him that he’d keep silent without thinking it through, he didn’t think he would have been able to believe it.

_And if I can’t believe him-- if I think he’s going to tell-- the Lizard is going to jump,_ he thought, feeling his gut clench coldly again. _And this time I’ll jump with it._

“I can’t think of any circumstance where knowing your actual age would be essential to someone’s survival,” Heero said abruptly. “That doesn’t mean that one doesn’t exist, but the probability has to be incredibly low. So, no. I don’t intend to tell anyone, with the caveat that if the information could somehow make the difference between life and death for one of the other Gundam pilots, I **will** tell that person and no other.”

Haan’s right arm went limp as the Lizard abruptly lost interest, and he felt almost ill as his abused gut started to relax again. _…What do you know. I believe him. The Lizard obviously believes him too, which is one hell of an accomplishment!_ “I think I can accept that caveat,” he said quietly, “so long as it only applies to the other pilots.”

Heero nodded decisively. “Only the pilots. Even if we weren’t currently dealing with a leak in their organisation, telling the Doctors would involve passing the information to several--”

“ **No doctors!** ” Haan snarled, snapping around to glare at him in mingled rage and panic. “No scientists!”

“That’s what I said!” Heero agreed hastily, one hand lifting in the start of a defensive stance.

_Thank **fuck** the Lizard already backed off!_ “No scientists,” Haan repeated weakly, struggling not to hyperventilate. “I spent fifteen years chained to a wall with that asshole trying to find out what would kill me. No scientists. Never again. Never--”

He broke off, swallowing hard, and pushed himself up out of the sofa cushions’ squishy embrace, barely remembering to put down the mug as he rose and took a few shaky steps. The look of undisguised horror on Heero’s face was a relief, something he clung to. _He wouldn’t do that to me. He won’t let it happen again. He won’t tell…_

The pilot stood up, reaching out uncertainly towards him, then hesitated. “Are you okay--?”

“Gonna be sick,” he mumbled, and bolted.

* * * * *

Sally stepped out of her tent and shivered, pulling her uniform jacket tighter around the very non-uniform sweater she’d put on underneath it. There was frost on every surface in the hidden camp, sparkling like fine white lace on the ammo boxes, and she scowled despite its beauty.

“I swear, if I find whatever animal chewed a hole in my hot water bottle, I’m going to skin it for mittens,” she muttered, and the nearest soldier turned towards her.

“What was that, Major?”

“Nothing!” she said hastily, and then did a double-take as she realised he was standing there wearing only a t-shirt above the waist. “Aren’t you cold?!”

He blinked, looking blank for a moment. “No.”

“Well you should be! Put your jacket on before you get frostbite!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He trotted past her towards his tent, and she wrinkled her nose at a faint, sickly-sweet scent.

_That’s odd. We ran out of tinned peaches last month._


End file.
